


The Tremors

by raven_aorla



Category: Gotham (TV), The Tempest - Shakespeare
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, Alternate Universe - Urban Fantasy, Arkham/Indian Hill Cameos, Dysfunctional Family, Emotional Manipulation, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, F/F, F/M, Families of Choice, Gen, Hallucinations, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Implied/Referenced Torture, Knowledge of The Tempest optional, M/M, Magic, Male-Female Friendship, Mental Health Issues, Mind Control, Mother-Daughter Relationship, Mother-Son Relationship, Past Child Abuse, Plotting, References to Shakespeare, Shakespeare Fusion, Weird Fluff, servitude
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-28
Updated: 2017-11-16
Packaged: 2019-01-06 11:41:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 27,963
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12210579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raven_aorla/pseuds/raven_aorla
Summary: Fish Mooney was betrayed and found herself trapped far from home. Having slain Hugo Strange, she's made Indian Hill an underground society worth ruling and adopted Bridget Pike. If only her other ward, Jonathan Crane, didn't yearn so much to leave. She needs his unique powers for the day she can emerge and exact revenge on Oswald Cobblepot.Now Oswald and others have stumbled upon her domain. Time to improvise.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Seriously, I just now finished [my Gotham/Macbeth fusion](http://archiveofourown.org/works/12115626/chapters/27474480), and then this idea explosively germinated in my head. Whyyyyyy.
> 
> Cast correlation guide is in the end notes.
> 
>  
> 
> _For you, as usual._

Three years ago, Oswald Cobblepot betrayed his employer and patron, Fish Mooney. He betrayed her in a number of ways, culminating in pushing her off a very high roof into the river. For most people, that would have been the end of it, but Fish then found herself alive in the presence of Dr. Hugo Strange, who’d assumed she would have no memory of her former life.

He’d been very surprised to learn his latest procedure had revived her while preserving her memory. He usually artificially removed the personal memories for subjects who came to him living rather than dead, but he was far too interested in playing with the new features on his new toy. 

She’d been surprised to learn that his previously untried procedure had the side effect of allowing her to force people to do her bidding after she touched them. It didn’t change their thoughts or emotions, simply made it impossible for them to do anything else. She kept it hidden until she had an opportunity to strike. That meant everyone else had been surprised when not long after that, she made Strange stab himself to death with a set of tongs. A scalpel would have been too easy. 

She’d decided not to resurface just yet. Oswald was powerful now. She had to wait until the time was right. Besides, enslaving the doctors, nurses, and orderlies who had been complicit in tormenting the prisoners of Indian Hill had been rather gratifying. So was building her own small underground society, supplied by the Indian Hill staff, who also did the menial or dangerous labor. The better jobs were done by just over two dozen former test subjects, many of them with special powers. 

Fish came to treasure the two youngest. Hardworking, clever, tough but affectionate Bridgit, Fish loved unconditionally. The girl accepted her as a mother, not remembering her own. She was fireproof and pyrokinetic, but she was also a whiz at administration, and was Fish’s right-hand girl. She was the sunlight of Fish’s life. 

Then there was odd, miraculous, highly intelligent, not completely sane, and unfortunately petulant Jonathan. He was more like a stepchild or foster child off the street, more like silvery changeable moonlight. What had been done to Jonathan had restructured his mind in such a way that the amnesiac procedure hadn’t worked on him, either. Unlike everyone else, he had an intense and powerful desire to return to the outside world _now_ , rather than wait for their leader to make the city safe for them.

But when Fish finally rose up against Oswald and his allies, she needed this boy working for her, not off somewhere having adventures like she knew he would at first opportunity. He could induce hallucinations in other people. He was best at the ones that induced terror. It was like nothing she’d ever heard of before. She would need him then, and she needed him now. He was a perfect enforcer of discipline and he was Bridgit’s best friend. Truth be told, Fish would miss him if he were gone. She couldn’t let him leave. She indulged his every whim except that, but he was still clearly a resentful and slouchy adolescent under his veneer of respect and his grudging affection for her. 

She wasn’t really close to anyone else, but that was okay. Her little underground realm ran more or less smoothly. There were social dynamics, simple domestic gossip and other trivial matters. Nothing truly dramatic happened. 

Then came the day one of the orderlies told her that Oswald Cobblepot, along with several others, had found a hidden entrance to Indian Hill. What they were looking for, the orderly didn’t know.

Fish turned on the intercom. “Jonathan, I need you for something.” 

Jonathan appeared not long after. A few months after killing Strange, she’d relocated him to a former cell very near her office. “Yes, ma’am?”

“I need you to go almost to the surface. We have some intruders I need you to deal with.”

He nodded. “Scare them off, or…?”

“Convince them to come in deeper, and that they can’t go out the way they came. Shake them up a bit while you’re at it. I want them functional but jumping at noises. Understand?” 

“Yes, ma’am. Which entrance?” He persisted with using "ma'am" even though she didn't require it.

Fish cleared her throat. “Give me your hand first, chickadee.” He acted like he hated that nickname, but she often caught him poorly hiding a smile at it. 

No smile now. “You renewed the compulsion only four days ago!” 

Fish’s control lasted between seven and nine days, depending on the strength of will of the controlled. She staggered mind control renewals of different people over the course of the week so as not to exhaust herself. Jonathan was the only former test subject she did this to. Otherwise she kept it to staff. “You’ll be very close to a way out and in the presence of people you might persuade to break you out. You know how much I love you, Jonathan, and you know this is the one single itty bitty bitty case where I don’t trust you.”

Jonathan had no choice but to comply. The compulsion to obey this particular order hadn’t worn off yet. She paused when she took his hand. Even though she made sure he and Bridgit had the very best food, he’d never significantly fattened up after what his father and later Strange had done to him. His physical and emotional fragility and his occasional brief psychotic episodes gave him an airy, otherworldly quality. He murmured, looking at the floor, “If you really loved me you wouldn’t do this.”

“It isn’t forever, chickadee.” She squeezed his hand and let her will flow through. She had to be quite specific. “You will not leave Indian Hill unless I say so, or unless not doing so would literally spell death for you, me, or Bridgit. Nobody else here is worth it. The circumstances for the latter cannot be caused by you, directly or indirectly, including by manipulation of others. You will make no effort to manipulate me on this matter. One day I will set you free. It’s not time yet.”

Jonathan jerked his hand away as soon as he could, and shook it like he was trying to dry it off without anything to wipe it on. “Which entrance?”

She told him, and other instructions beside. Before he left she tucked some of his messy hair behind one ear and wiped a chalk smudge off his cheekbone with her thumb. He liked to draw on the floor of his room with a huge selection of brightly colored chalk. “Don’t be afraid to have fun with it. I know you can.”

“I guess I haven’t made anyone think it's an earthquake before,” Jonathan said, marginally less miffed. “That could be kinda cool.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Full cast list:
> 
> Fish - Prospero
> 
> Jonathan - Ariel
> 
> Bridgit - Miranda
> 
> Selina - Ferdinand
> 
> Oswald - Antonio
> 
> Ed - Sebastian
> 
> Falcone - Alonso
> 
> Harvey Bullock - Gonzalo
> 
> Victor Fries - Caliban
> 
> Victor Zsasz - Trinculo
> 
> Butch Gilzean - Stephano
> 
> The Janitor (who is an original character) - The Boatswain (you’ll see)


	2. Setup

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Full cast list in end notes.
> 
> Instead of "Full Fathom Five", Jonathan sings two verses from the Decemberists' "The Island", which is an homage to _The Tempest_. Specifically from the first part of the song, "Come and See". It is on their album _The Crane Wife_. We will pretend that in this universe, they were inspired by something else. [You can listen here.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QuEQxhP-Zmo)TW for implied rape in the second part, "The Landlord's Daughter".

Indian Hill, on paper, was an underground dump for hazardous waste. However, Falcone had received intel that it was in fact a repository for drugs and money by the now devastated and scattered Maroni Family. He’d been accused lately of softness, just sitting back and letting all the work be done for him, so he decided to see it himself.

GCPD Captain Harvey Bullock had made a deal that Bullock would get to take just enough of the drugs for it to be a glorious drugs bust in a city that was (rightfully) not very confident in the police. He insisted on going along in person. Fine. Bullock was sensible and he’d ensured Jim Gordon was staying far away.

The site was on Oswald “Penguin” Cobblepot’s territory, so he had a right to a choice cut, which of course he didn’t trust anyone else to give him. He insisted on bringing along his partner Edward Nygma, whom he pointed out had the forensics knowledge to quickly and accurately test any drugs they found. Bullock was unhappy at the prospect of proximity with his former coworker Nygma in tight quarters, but, as Selina put it, “waahhhh”.

Selina “Cat” Kyle was an accomplished burglar who had worked for Falcone, Cobblepot, and many others on commission, and she swore that she had explored the underground tunnels accessed through the small entrance months ago but run into barriers she couldn’t get past by herself. As the _full_ saying went, curiosity killed the cat, but satisfaction brought it back. She’d been hired as their guide.

This was a volatile mix, so Falcone had brought along his trustiest employee, best hit man, and fairly good bodyguard Victor Zsasz. (His relative less proficiency at bodyguarding was because he got impatient.) Butch Gilzean was less trustworthy, indeed only trustworthy because Zsasz had spent weeks mysteriously reprogramming him after he turned traitor. He could carry heavier weights than any of Zsasz’s Zsaszettes could, though. Plus Zsasz-induced artificial obedience was complete and total. Zsasz could keep him, and everyone else, in line.

****

“The tunnels are deliberately split and twisty to confuse intruders, I bet,” Selina said as she removed the camouflage cover in a nondescript patch of woods. There were steps down. Butch was the last one in and replaced the cover. She put on her new goggles, the down payment for this job, and switched on the night-vision setting. “These are cool, Don Falcone!”

“You’re welcome,” Falcone said, turning on his lightweight but wide-beamed flashlight.

“There aren’t any lights?” Harvey asked as they started walking.

“Why would anyone just leave lights on?” Ed asked as he turned on his super fancy green-tinged flashlight that ran on batteries but could be hand cranked as backup. He supported Oswald with his other hand, and had a backpack full of supplies. Oswald had his cane but didn’t seem to mind being doted on, or having someone carry things for him. At least not this someone.

“Some people aren’t treating this like some kind of epic spelunking expedition, Ed,” Harvey sniped back.

“First off, some of it is a forensics field kit. Also, wow, Captain Bullock knows the word ‘spelunking’!”

“No bickering,” Falcone ordered. “Zsasz, please stop making shadow puppets, or at least wait another twenty minutes to get properly bored.”

“Yes, sir.” Zsasz was right behind Selina and right in front of Falcone, to protect both. Butch brought up the rear in case anyone tried to sneak up on them, and also to bracket Oswald and Ed. This meant Harvey was in between Falcone and the remaining two, which had its drawbacks.

Then the ground started shaking. It was a tossup whether Ed or Harvey screamed first or louder, though it was definite that Ed tried to shield Oswald against any debris or ceiling collapse. Harvey couldn’t go anywhere without someone else to light the way, so he hung onto Falcone, who carefully got into a crash position.

Meanwhile, Selina ran for the first intersection, where she knew there would be an indentation to huddle into. She kinda liked _some_ of these guys but she wasn’t dying for them. She shouted, “I’m sorry, but hell with this!”

Butch bolted in another direction and Zsasz chased after him - sufficient trauma might shake Butch’s programming loose.

It didn’t just sound like an earthquake. It sounded like some howling monster was rattling its cage. Ed muttered to himself while rocking slightly, careful not to jostle Oswald, _“A horse and a man, above, below. One has a plan but both must go. Mile after mile, above, beneath, one has a smile and one has teeth. Though the man above might say hello, expect no love from the beast below.”_

Oswald reached up and stroked Ed’s cheek until Ed stopped rocking and trembling, which correlated to the slowing of the tremors. “Is that from a _Doctor Who_ episode you showed me?”

His voice dropped to a whisper. “Not much of a fair riddle, though, since it, since it turned out to - Oswald, I told you about how my...”

“I know, Edward. I know. You’re not there anymore. You’re with me.”

The tremors tapered off. Ed got up and helped Oswald up, and shone his flashlight around to see who was still there. Falcone, looking regal and unruffled, was checking his phone and shaking his head. Harvey looked dazed and disheveled. He stared at Ed. “Were you honestly quoting some kiddie sci-fi show when you thought you were gonna die?”

“I have a goddaughter who loves it, and we watch it together during many of our visits,” Falcone said, and waved off Harvey’s spluttered backpedaling. “Turn off your phones to save battery and use as emergency light sources, gentlemen. No reception. We need someone to check to see if we can still go out the same way we came in.”

“Hah!” Ed took off his pack and removed a coil of thin nylon rope on a spool. “Call me Ariadne because I have prepared myself for - wait, what did you call it, an epic spelunking expedition? Hold the other end for me, Oswald, just in case.”

“I’m coming with you.”

“I won’t be a moment.”

Falcone said, “Nygma, go, Cobblepot, stay.”

“Yes, sir,” they chorused with tepid enthusiasm. They kissed each other needily before separating for a handful of steps, even if they were dark.

Harvey muttered to Falcone, “I can’t believe these two cuckoo lovebirds. Or would that make them love cuckoobirds?”

“They do good work, Captain. It’s not my fault you weren’t able to hang onto your own personnel.” Nygma had once been under heavy suspicion of murder, but when Oswald appealed to Falcone for the sake of the man who’d saved his life, the evidence had mysteriously vanished. He was an asset to Falcone’s people. If Nygma could find evidence, they knew they had to clean up some more.

Harvey looked off into the deeper darkness. “Speaking of, our guide’s skedaddled.”

“She’s a teenage girl, for all her skills. She may have panicked. We’ll stay together, use Nygma’s rope as a failsafe if need be.”

“And Zsasz and Gilzean?”

Falcone shrugged. “Zsasz acted according to instructions. He can take care of himself and anyone else. He’ll help us if he can. Either way, not my top concern.”

****

Jonathan arrived at Fish’s office tired but clearly buzzed. Fish looked up at him and pushed a glass of fruit punch in his direction. “Lock the door behind you and take a seat. How’d it go?”

He sat and sipped. “I did what you asked, ma’am. Turned off the lights to make them nervous to start, then made them split off like you said. If any of them see a different exit to the surface, they’ll perceive that as caved-in as well.”

“I see a little smile. It was kinda fun, wasn’t it?”

He put his hands over his mouth and squirmed. “Maybe a bit.”

“You’ve made me proud. I have more for you to do later, but I know that was a lot of power all at once, so you should take a break.”

Jonathan lowered his hands and gripped the table, his face gone sharp. “One of them was Oswald Cobblepot.”

“And?”

“You said that when you had Cobblepot in your grasp, you’d set me free.”

“He’s _almost_ in my grasp. Another day or two before this whole plan is executed.”

“That’s not fair.”

Fish waggled her finger. “Tsk tsk. You’re being pouty again, Jonathan.”

“Don’t treat me like a child! I’m not a child!”

“I think you need reminding of the circumstances I found you in.”

Jonathan groaned. “I don’t need reminding.”

“I think you do. How did you end up down here?”

He gritted out, “My dad did an experimental treatment on me that backfired. He got shot trying to attack the police who came to arrest him. Us. I suppose I count as accessory or accomplice to how he got the ingredients. Hugo Strange used his connections to get me declared dead and brought down here. He thought he could make me special.”

“And what condition were you in?” She leaned forward on her elbows.

“I was tied to a bed screaming.”

“Uh huh. And did Strange figure out a way to cure that?”

“Yes.”

“Did he?”

“Not really.”

“What did he do and for how long?”

“Just over twelve months. He brought me out of it a few times a month, for tests that required lucidity. Then he put me back into that state again.”

“Uh huh. A lot of us could hear you screaming from a different cell. You were even frightening staff. What did I do for you?”

“Before you killed him, you forced Strange to bring me back permanently. Except for the short episodes he couldn’t fix which I take meds to reduce in frequency and duration.”

“And you said…”

He sighed. “I said I was grateful and would do whatever you wanted.”

She opened up her hands. “See? If you were to charge out into the outside world without any support, your psychotic episodes would get you out on the street or in an asylum. Stay with me two more days, max. Then you’ll be able to make the best start possible.”

Jonathan looked at the woodgrain of the desk for a few seconds before saying, “Can I go to my room now?”

“Yes.”

*****

Bridgit knocked on Jonathan’s door. Almost all the cells, including this one, had been altered so they locked from the inside but not the outside. The opposite of how it used to be.

The food slot flap opened. “There are two people allowed to come in this room in my current mood. You know if you’re one of them.”

“The other one isn’t Mama, I bet.”

Jonathan opened the door and went back to his scissors, glue, and magazines. “I’m working on my wall collage, but you can talk.”

“That janitor you like brought you more National Geographics, huh?” Mama wouldn’t have stood for Jonathan furtively making out with almost any of the staff, but she’d interviewed this janitor. The young man had only been working for a few days there when the coup occurred, desperately needing a job, and during that time had done pretty much nothing but mop. Innocent enough to be allowed to cheer Jonathan up. Mama thought it’d help Jonathan want to stay. Bridgit was pretty sure it made Jonathan want to go home with him, or at least on a date somewhere else.

Not that he liked talking about it. Jonathan blushed and coughed. “Ahem. Yeah. I’ve finished reading the articles in this issue. I’m not in a mood to work on my GED work.” Jonathan was determined to get the equivalent of a high school diploma within weeks of getting out of here, whenever that would be. He paid adults in nice hallucinations for tutoring him. He wasn’t as good at hallucinations that weren’t frightening, but he had no competition.

Everyone was allowed to personalize their room within the limits of budget and safety. Jonathan chose to paper his with photos of beautiful landscapes from the outside world. The landscapes on the walls were exotic to him. The landscapes and cityscapes he drew in chalk on his concrete floor were from memory, though he always snuck a tiny evil scarecrow in somewhere. Like a demonic _Where’s Waldo_. Apparently. He was the one who’d told her about the book series. She looked down at the newest one. “What’s that?”

“That’s Gotham’s largest park, as far as I remember.”

“The scarecrow’s hiding in a tree.” Even small, it was really creepy.

“Yes. Did you want something?” Jonathan was cutting out some mountain cliffs over a blue-green sea. He’d turned off his overhead fluorescents and switched on the special lamp that was meant to treat people who got depressed in winter, as well as his friendly incandescent standing lamp.

Bridgit knew a lot of people who’d put in requests for the latter, to soften the harsh illumination and have a light source after general lights-out. She had a lot of candles, herself. The SAD lamp was only him as far as she knew. “I’m just worried about you. I’m not spying on you.”

“Yeah, I know.” Jonathan could scan other people’s emotions, though it only tended to skim the surface. “I had a sandwich a moment ago. Everyone’s trying to finish eating all the recent lettuce before it withers.”

“It’s not only that, but that’s good. How’d punishing Tetch go yesterday?” Jervis Tetch had hypnotic abilities he couldn’t perform without wearing a special top hat, which was kept from him unless he was doing a supervised task. He’d been caught trying to find the hat.

Now for the glue. Jonathan climbed onto his cot to start the application process. “You can sit, Bridgit, I’m not mad at you. I made him see his sister commit suicide over and over. I know he’s not a nice man, but I felt weird doing it. He stopped crying eventually.”

“I heard you went after some intruders today?” She tried not to sound too eager. She believed Mama knew best when it came to staying safe down here, but she was intrigued by the idea of new people.

“Yeah.”

“Tell me about them?”

The richly saturated photo of sea cliffs attached to the wall smoothly, flattened by pale hands, and Jonathan talked. “...And then the teen girl goes, ‘I’m sorry, but hell with this!’ and just zooms out of there. I almost laughed. She had a similar model of night-vision goggles as me, funny enough. I suppose they’re considered the best for private use.”

“Teen girl?” Bridgit’s interest was piqued. Jonathan was a good friend but ever since she could remember (as in less than four years ago), she’d been wistful for a girl her age to hang out with, do the gal pal thing like she’d seen on a few of their movie nights. Also...actress Eliza Dushku gave her….feelings. That Jonathan said were normal, especially in response to Eliza Dushku.

“Yeah. Ms. Fish wants me to let her spend some time alone, thinking. It’s not so much space between each security camera. We won’t let her get hurt, only disoriented and lost before I lead her to safety.”

Bridgit couldn’t think too much about that right now. “For the millionth time, you know she’d prefer it if you called her Mama or Mom.”

He started cutting out a picture of a tropical island. “I am aware.”

Then there was a knock at the door. Speak of the avenging angel. “Jonathan, time for phase two like we discussed. Bridgit, bundle up. You and I need to go talk to Fries.”

****

Victor Fries, uniquely among the residents, had given himself his unusual abilities before arriving. Entirely by accident, too. Strange had merely taken him in after his botched suicide attempt following the death of Fries’ wife. He’d given Fries a purpose: developing real cryogenics. Fries had not been directly involved in torturing people, and he had the background to understand what had been done to everyone and mitigate the lingering effects. For those two reasons, Fish had spared him. Fries was a rogue element, though, who found her use of mind control a worse sin than Strange’s experimentation. She couldn’t control him with her power because nobody could touch his bare skin without frostbite. He had to be controlled in other ways.

Fries could blast ice and super-cooled air from his hands, and Strange had helped him figure how how to use this ability and his knowledge of biology to freeze people into stasis without killing them, safely thawing them later. The accident that made him this way had resulted from efforts to do a similar thing using regular science rather than magic by another name. The price was he could not survive regular temperatures for more than a few minutes without a special suit. As with Tetch, the best way to keep him in check was lock away his essential prop except for when it suited Fish.

The icy man’s quarters and modified laboratory were deep within the bowels of Indian Hill. The natural insulation of the layers of soil and rock made the rooms easier to keep cold. If he did all his required tasks he was permitted to spend the rest of his time on harmless research or otherwise amusing himself, which reduced his frustration with his situation. To a degree.

If Fish wanted to go into his quarters rather than peek at him through a Plexiglas window and talk through a speaker, she needed Bridgit to provide a contained heat source that wouldn’t harm Fries. Fish also brought Jonathan from time to time to verify that Fries wasn’t feeling murderous, but Jonathan tended to also pick up such a wave of sadness and isolation that Fish kept it to a minimum. Jonathan’s mental health was fragile enough as it was.

The two of them were still dressed warmly, though, to make it comfortable to approach his quarters and to reduce the amount of power Bridgit would have to expend if entry became necessary. Fish pressed a gloved fingertip to the speaker button. It broadcast to both Fries’ lab and what was a cross between a freezer and a subterranean one-bedroom studio apartment. Strange had spared no expense giving his ally nice digs, or having equipment ordered or modified to survive the temperatures. “Good afternoon, Mr. Fries, how are you today?”

“I am busy, Ms. Mooney,” he said curtly, not even coming to the window, which was in his lab rather than his living area in order to give him a bit of privacy.

Fish clicked her tongue. “You’re sounding rather chilly. Maybe I should turn up the dial on this climate-control knob I have right here.”

He came to the window, frowning. “What do you need, then?”

She could tell he’d been relaxing, not working, because he wasn’t wearing a shirt. It was bad lab safety to be half-naked, but being shirtless kept him colder with less effort. Fish couldn’t help but notice his rather nice torso. He couldn’t access the exercise room, complete with amenities like a treadmill and badminton equipment, nor could he jog around the approved routes at the approved times. He must do a lot of crunches and such.

Bridgit was staring at her. Right. It wasn’t Fish’s fault that her position made it inadvisable to take lovers among her subjects. “Jonathan will likely require a stockpile of extra medication shortly. If I let him leave it may take him a while to find a new supplier, especially for his unique needs. How much can you make within forty-eight hours?” Fish would never risk consuming anything Fries made, but Fries felt guilty for not helping Jonathan while the teen was Strange’s toy. No one else had been through anything nearly as horrific. Fries would never hurt _him_.

Fries’ face softened. “I expect enough for a month or two. I have all the ingredients. I’ll put my efforts for a temporary solidification solution for Basil’s face on hold, then.”

“That’s lower priority,” Fish agreed.

Bridgit giggled. “It’s the talk of the complex, Mr. Freeze, I wish you coulda been there. He was trying to deny that he’d just been all over this one cafeteria lady on her break, but his face looked like what Jonathan says Picasso paintings look like. Jonathan said you’d get that reference.”

“I do,” Fries said with a hint of a grudging smile. Fish had long suspected he and his late wife had wanted children.

“I took a photo,” Bridgit said, opening up the slot where staff stuck Fries’ food. She slid it through.

He didn’t laugh, but his smile became a little more obvious. “I’m putting this on my wall. Thank you.”

Fish knew his wall decor was otherwise a picture of Nora, a paper calendar featuring baby Arctic wildlife (his idea), a dry-erase color-coded to-do list, and copies of his two graduate diplomas: an M.S. in Biochemistry and an M.S. in Mechanical Engineering. No reason not to fulfill modest requests like document retrieval when he was being cooperative. She wondered if he really would stick that silly picture up there, too.

“Thank you for helping!” Bridgit said over her shoulder as she followed Fish back up. There was a small, nearby evacuation tunnel for people on the lower levels, but it didn’t take you to the main complex.

Fish removed her gloves and inspected her fingernails. She’d been neglecting them lately. “Well done.”

“I didn’t do anything. We didn’t go inside.”

Fish smiled at Bridgit. “You did something.”

“When we leave, we’re not just gonna leave him stranded, right? You won’t have to worry about him overthrowing you anymore.”

Not in currently inclined to undermine Bridget’s naivete, Fish said, “I have plans within plans, firebug, don’t you worry. Let’s take this turn.”

“Why? It’s the long way around to the big hall.”

Fish checked her watch. Jonathan was a punctual boy. “I feel like it.”

****

Selina wasn’t scared, it was just that she was unfamiliar with these particular tunnels and she was starting to get thirsty. Maybe she should have stayed with the group. Nygma probably had a whole picnic in his bag. She didn’t know if they were okay after the earthquake. If they weren’t, that sucked, but she had to look out for number one. At least she got these great goggles out of the deal.

The she heard faint singing. Light tenor voice. Not pro or anything, but reasonably pleasant.

 _There's an island hidden in the sound_  
_Lapping currents lay your boat to ground_  
_Affix your barb and bayonet_  
_The curlews carve their Arabesques_  
_And sorrow fills the silence all around_  
_Come and see_

Okayyy. That wasn’t horror-movie-like at all.

On the other hand, the most likely explanation was a maintenance worker singing to himself to pass the time. If the guy was nice, she’d ask for directions. If the guy wasn’t nice, she’d demand directions with her pocket knife.

 _There's a harbor lost within the reeds_  
_A jetty caught in overhanging trees_  
_Among the bones of cormorants_  
_No boot mark here nor fingerprints_  
_The rivers roll down to a soundless sea_

She crept along noiselessly. She could see now that there was a bigger tunnel with actual lighting up ahead.

 _Come and see_  
_Come and see_

Then she stopped in her tracks. She heard talking. Two women. She pressed herself flat against a wall and pushed the goggles up her forehead so she could see normally.

They were talking about houseware inventory, particularly toilet paper supplies. One of them, walking slightly ahead, had a trench coat draped over one arm, a green dress, and killer heels. The other one had a jacket clutched to her chest and was wearing jeans and sneakers and she…

She…

Selina forgot all caution. She lost pretty much every brain cell she had. She ran towards them, yelling, “Bridgit! I thought you were dead!”

****

This tunnel went down, not up, which was maybe not the best idea. Zsasz suspected Butch was fleeing blindly. Zsasz ran for endurance rather than speed, waiting for Butch to stop and catch his breath. Then he tapped him on the shoulder. “Hi!”

Butch jerked around. “Oh shi - hi. Hello. Did you see the others?”

“Nope. Was focusing on you. Lucky, lucky you.”

“I, I, I panicked. I’m sorry.”

Zsasz smiled sweetly. “Uh huh. Let’s stick together. I see a bit of light over that way. There’s no reason anybody would light a tunnel for no reason. Got my drift?”

“Uh huh.”

“I’ve got two handguns, a stun gun, a balisong, and a Swiss army knife, plus a bunch of zip ties.” Beautiful things could be done with a Swiss Army knife and imagination. In truth, he also had another gun and a switchblade. Zsasz never let anybody know the real total number of weapons he had on him. “You?”

Butch wiped his forehead, damp with exertion. “Glock, full clip.”

“Then we should be able to take out anyone we find if we have to.”

“Yes.” Butch took a sip from his hip flask, then held it out as a peace offering. Zsasz took a swig before handing it back. He appreciated the thought, though there was no way Zsasz was sharing his bag of vodka-soaked gummy bears.

As Butch tucked the flask away, he shivered and said, “Is it just me, or is it starting to get cold?”

“It’s a bit nippy, I agree.” Zsasz took out a handmade black beanie with a white Z knitted into it. Birthday present from one of his crew. The gals were all so annoyed with not getting to come along on this expedition that they’d browbeaten him into bringing the hat, two Power bars, and one of those collapsible water bottles. The last was still full. He was already wearing leather gloves.

Not much farther down, and they could see a door, a window to the room the door was for, a knob with a thermostat, and a button. There was some light coming through but there was a curtain drawn over the window.

Zsasz paused for only a moment. “I love mysterious buttons.” He pressed it.

Nothing dramatic happened at first, then a voice said, “Yes, what do you want?”

“Hi! We’re lost. Why are your door and window all frosted over?”

The curtain got drawn aside. An oddly handsome, pale, white-haired dude with spooky bright blue eyes and vivid veins, peered at them with curious shock. He was wearing a lab coat and thin gloves that were not rubber. He removed his safety goggles. “You’re Victor Zsasz, aren’t you?”

“You know who I am? See, Butch, my reputation precedes me.”

Butch poorly concealed the rolling of his eyes. “That it does, sir.”

“I remember seeing you in the news before I had my accident.”

Zsasz tapped the glass like a misbehaving aquarium visitor. “Who are you, then?”

“Victor Fries.”

“Damn, Mr. Freeze?”

Fries did a double-take. “Yes?”

“I heard you’d, you know, _gone for broke_ at the end of your creative murder spree. Full credit for ingenuity. You were dinner table conversation at my house for days.”

Fries shifted uncomfortably. Butch stepped in. “Are you a prisoner?”

“Essentially. The door isn’t locked but I wouldn’t make it ten minutes if I left these rooms. I can only go into temperatures above zero if I wear a custom suit, and _Her Ladyship_ keeps it from me most of the time.” He narrowed his eyes when he talked about the woman doing this to him. Which made perfect sense.

“Who’s the lady? Does she run this place? What is this place?”

“It’s Indian Hill, but Indian Hill is not as advertised. It used to be Dr. Hugo Strange’s domain but then Mooney took over…”

Butch’s jaw dropped. “Wait, Fish Mooney?”

“Black lady who does this tick-tick thing with her finger when she’s being patronizing?” Zsasz asked, doing an impression.

“Yes, her. Strange made her different from how she used to be. She can force people to do things, but she needs to touch their bare skin. Nobody can touch my bare skin.” Fries tapped right back. “We can speak freely here. I’m able to make the walls outside my rooms so cold that it damaged the closest security camera. She thought I was doing it by accident and gave up.”

“Niiiiiice,” Zsasz said.

“Thank you. Bring me my suit and I will give you anything. I used to have free run of the place. One of the reasons she keeps me alive is I know how everything works. I can tell you a way to defeat her without killing her, too, if that’s what you want. I’ve been working on it for years but can’t do it on my own. I know you work for Falcone, Zsasz, or at least you did. He wanted her dead, right?”

“He did.” Zsasz tapped his chin thoughtfully. “D’ya know where your suit is?”

“No. I can draw you a map of the main complex, though, and slide it out my door slot for you to consult. I have some ideas of likely places.”

Zsasz gave him a thumbs-up. “Sounds like a plan.”

“How is she?” Butch asked softly.

Fries raised an eyebrow. “In reasonably good health, not my favorite person, fairly popular among the people down here she _doesn’t_ enslave. I’m not sure what sort of answer you’re looking for.”

“You don’t need to know,” Zsasz said decisively.

“Oh, Mr. Zsasz?”

“I’d say you can call me Victor, but that’d get confusing.”

No smile from Fries. “When you do go look for my suit...there’s a pair of teens in this place. One boy, one girl. They’re just kids. She either outright forces them or plays on how much they miss having a real mother. I’ve heard the House of Zsasz always gives bystanders a chance to walk away, but if you could take special care with these kids, even if you think they’d be good bargaining chips…”

“I’m not into killing minors as a general rule, don’t worry,” Zsasz said.

“I think one might be almost nineteen, but he did spend a year not properly conscious.”

“Eh, nineteen whose head has been messed with is not really an adult. I won’t split hairs.”

“I’ll get on with making your map, then,” Fries said, shaking his own hand since he couldn’t shake theirs.

****

Jonathan woke up in an unfamiliar stretch of tunnel, dry tears on his face. Damn it, he’d lost time again. Making the girl think a real person _wasn't_ there, luring her with song, was much harder than making someone see something that wasn't real. He felt wobbly but used a bit of power to activate one of his “set and forget” hallucinations. There was a kind of hallucination he could implant subconsciously and make it appear in the person’s mind at a distance, but something so complicated had to be consensual or risk the subject’s brain damage. So far he’d only done it as setup for distress signals. He curled around himself while he waited for the recipient to find him.

“Lucky for you I’m on my break,” a welcome voice said eventually. “Maybe you should’ve picked a more pleasant image than a Japanese crane getting shot with an arrow. Jarring, you know?”

“S’ry.”

“It’s okay. Am I gonna have to carry you?”

“M’by.”

“I repeat: you should tell Mooney how much of a toll this takes on you. You’ve never done more than two people at once, or this many people in one day!”

Jonathan sat up and shook his head. “Already says I’m too weak to su’vive on my own. Don’ wanna add fuel.”

The janitor wasn’t much bigger than Jonathan, but he picked Jonathan up bridal-style without much trouble. He kissed the top of his head. “Let’s get you some real rest in your own bed, then.”

“I still have another thing today.”

“Is there time for a nap and, I dunno, a piece of cake? You can have my portion from lunch. I don’t like walnuts. Shit, it’s like you’re made of air.”

“Y’r strong.”

“Told you, I almost qualified for police academy until the last minute.”

“C’s y’r colorblind.” Which was probably a mercy, given the nauseating yellow-green jumpsuit he had to wear for work.

“Yes. Also because they found out I cut a creeper’s dick off when I was fourteen. Same problem with the Army. It’s almost as if they were squeamish.”

“Heh. When I leave Inn’n Hill…”

“We’ll discuss it later. Save your strength if you’ve got more work to do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FULL CAST LIST
> 
> Fish - Prospero
> 
> Jonathan - Ariel
> 
> Bridgit - Miranda
> 
> Selina - Ferdinand
> 
> Oswald - Antonio
> 
> Ed - Sebastian
> 
> Falcone - Alonso
> 
> Harvey Bullock - Gonzalo
> 
> Victor Fries - Caliban
> 
> Victor Zsasz - Trinculo
> 
> Butch Gilzean - Stephano
> 
> The Janitor (who is an original character) - The Boatswain (you’ll see)


	3. Complication

The blonde girl all in black with goggles on her head was hugging Bridgit and babbling and nearly crying. Bridgit stood still, mouth slightly open. Eventually the girl figured it out and stepped back. Her voice went small and tentative. “Bridgit? It’s me. Selina.”

Bridgit shook her head sadly. “It’s not personal. I don’t remember anything about my own life before I came here.”

“Almost nobody does in this place,” Fish said. “Can you prove you knew Bridgit? Something that a person wouldn’t see in the papers, or on medical records.”

Selina crossed her arms and put her right hand on her chin. “Um. Hm. Uh...I don’t know if you still do this, but no matter how you fall asleep, you end up all sprawled out like a starfish and with all the blankets pushed to the floor unless someone stopped you. Drove me nuts during sleepovers when we were little.”

Fish looked at Bridgit, whose hands were over her mouth and had started trembling. On the one hand, Fish didn’t know if Selina could be trusted, and she certainly didn’t want anyone luring Bridgit away. But on the other hand - Bridgit’s face.

“You’ll eat peanut butter with a spoon like it’s ice cream. Which is gross,” Selina added. “And. And, uh, and, and when you take your shoes off for the night, you leave a fresh sock in each shoe so it’ll be ready for you in the morning.”

Bridgit was shaking. Fish had wanted to trap the girl, who’d be less wary at the sight of a woman and a girl, not spark a chance reunion. She decided she could adjust her approach.

“All right, let’s not stand here blocking the corridor. My office, now. Bridgit, don’t tell her a thing until we know more.” Fish turned on her heel and strode ahead, trusting her dear girl to follow. She subtly signaled to the nearest security camera for Kelly - a Strange test subject who lost an arm but developed no powers for his pains - to remotely close the door Selina had been allowed to come through. She listened to the girls talking behind her, letting Selina reveal important information freely.

“Your mom died. You were living with your brothers, who were professional arsonists, and they treated you like dirt. Yelled at you and hit you and made you cook and clean for them. I tried to get you to leave them, but you didn’t think you could survive on your own and at the time I wasn’t in a position to take care of anyone else no matter how much I…" Selina coughed. “Then, uh, they had to do something really dangerous, I didn’t get all the details, but it was in a factory making some unusual chemicals and they were supposed to torch parts of it. They decided to make you do the most dangerous part. And you were wearing this homemade suit thing to protect you from the flames of this crappy leaker flamethrower they rigged up, and something went wrong and everything went up in flames. Including your brothers.”

This checked out with what Strange’s records and Fries both said about the link between the rough dryness of Bridgit’s skin and her lack of susceptibility to flame and heat. The theory was that the “improvised armor” had reacted with the unknown chemicals and fused with her body. The pyrokinesis made less sense, but as it didn’t seem to hurt her at all there was no real need to know. Fish wasn’t going to ask Fries to do anything to Bridgit to satisfy anyone’s curiosity on the matter. 

“You were sad about me, though?” Bridgit asked softly.

“Duh. You’re my...best friend.”

Bridgit turned the questions towards Selina herself and determined that Selina was a burglar, pickpocket, and otherwise thieving ragamuffin extraordinaire who had explored these tunnels previously out of curiosity and been hired to guide “some dudes who heard a rumor there’s treasure down here”.

“What sort of ‘dudes’?” Fish interrupted. Some staff went by, but they were required not to bother her unless they had a truly urgent matter Bridgit or Kelly couldn’t settle for them. When she looked over her shoulder, Selina was staring at them, and at the increasingly clinical-looking corridor in general.

“But, Mama,” Bridgit knew Fish knew exactly what sort of dudes, but this was part of learning how much Selina would give up of her own accord. Then her information on the treasure rumor would have more credence.

“Hush, honey, let our guest speak.”

Selina paused. “Maybe I shouldn’t say. Some of them can get pretty dark pretty fast. But I won’t let them hurt you, Bridgit.” As if Bridgit were the only person down here who mattered.

“Oh no, you can’t let them have Jonathan either, everyone keeps messing with poor -”

Fish turned around and ticked her forefinger at her. “Bridgit. Pike.”

“Sorry.”

“What? Huh? Who? What is this place anyway?”

None of Selina’s questions went answered, and she gave up in favor of keeping up as Fish picked up the pace. Eventually they reached Fish’s office. Bridgit got Selina settled in a chair and fetched her a drink from the water cooler in the corner. Selina drained half of it in one go.

Fish locked the door and leaned against it for a second. She was feeling a little light-headed. She’d almost maxed herself out doing compulsion renewals on staff this morning, and giving Jonathan’s a boost was the hardest. Some people were more difficult than others, usually because of varying strength of will, but Jonathan’s unusual mind strained unusual muscles when it came to her gift.

 _You used to be able to do far more than this without getting tired,_ said a snide voice in her head that sounded remarkably like Oswald Cobblepot. _Have you thought about what that means? I bet Fries will, once he inevitably finds out…_

 _I do what I must,_ Fish snapped back at him.

“Water for me too, please,” Fish said aloud as she took her seat. Bridgit handed her a cup before sitting next to Selina. Fish sipped regally before looking Selina over with a critical eye. “You have convincing evidence for having known Bridgit, but I have no evidence that you won’t choose your own welfare or be on the side of ‘some dudes’ if we come into conflict. Give me your hand.”

“You don’t need to, I’m sure you don’t,” Bridgit began.

“It’s just a precaution. You know it won’t do her any harm.”

Selina looked at Fish and then back at Bridgit. “I’m missing something.”

“If you let me see your hand, I’ll let you leave with Bridgit within forty-eight hours if that’s what she wants,” Fish said. 

The readiness (and steadiness) with which Selina complied was thought-provoking. Fish wrapped her fingers around the girl’s wrist. “You will tell me and Bridgit the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. You will also…”

Then Fish fainted.

****

It wasn’t the most sophisticated plan, but not all plans needed to be. Zsasz and Butch located a closet. Butch removed a bunch of clutter from it and put it all somewhere out of sight. Zsasz didn’t care where, he just plucked a roll of duct tape from the assortment of maintenance and cleaning stuff and stayed hidden inside, guarding their claim until Butch returned. The newly drawn map showed the best routes to avoid cameras and where all their blind spots were, but that would work for only so long. 

Once the Zsasz and Butch got going again, the closet became a place to stash the two people they ran into, safely incapacitated, before they could raise an alarm. Captain Harvey Bullock’s alliance with Falcone for this expedition meant a promise of at least some effort to incapacitate, not kill. Anyway, Zsasz wasn’t big on wasting tally marks on hapless unarmed civilians if there was a way around it. It would be like a pro fisherman stuffing and mounting someone’s pet goldfish on his wall. 

Good news: they found Fries’ suit the first place he suggested they try. Bad news: it was in a combination-locked case that couldn’t possibly have the suit in one piece. Zsasz shrugged. “Let’s carry it back to Frosty the Woe-man. And by ‘let’s’, I mean you.”

Butch dutifully hauled the thing all the way back to Fries’ cell. Once there, Zsasz pushed the talk button and the curtain over the window practically wooshed aside. “We got it.”

Fries’ eyes widened and he quickly nodded. “Good. Yes. Thank you. My door isn’t locked. Open it, push the case through, and close it again. They keep it in a disassembled state to the point where it’ll take me about four hours to put it back again without assistance.”

“What, is it down to the individual screws?” Zsasz asked.

“Almost. It’s to slow down escape attempts. I’m sorry.”

“We don’t have anywhere to be right this second. Least it’s a safe nook.”

“I can push a chair back out at you. I only have one chair light enough.”

Zsasz patted Butch on the back. “Butch, after you hand over the _suit_ case - haha - you don’t mind standing at the end of the hall and keeping watch.”

Butch’s eyelid twitched. Not all of Zsasz’s finished projects did that. Interesting to see. “You got it, boss.”

Fries was considerate (or lonely) enough to work where Zsasz could watch him from his seat a few feet away. He also worked shirtless, mumbling something about it being easier to stay cold. 

“Don’t mind,” Zsasz said cheerfully. “Full disclosure: lotta people think I’m only into women just because I have an entourage of sexy and deadly ladies. That’s not entirely accurate. Don’t want to start off our partnership you thinking I’m secretly perving. I’m _openly_ perving.”

“There was a time when I would have made a pun involving the world ‘frigid’ to express how much I don’t care,” Fries said. He had enough screwdrivers and sundry to give three handymen an extravagant Christmas. Right now he was using something specialized-looking to pry open the case.

Zsasz whistled at the levels of paranoia here. “She’s really scared of you, huh?”

Fries didn’t reply until several minutes later, when he got past the lock. He opened the case like the Holy Grail was in it. He picked up a single small part. For a second Zsasz thought he might kiss it. “She should be.”

When Zsasz went right up to the window to take a closer look, he saw a barely-touched tray of food on the edge of the lab table. “Hey, Mr. Freeze, you should finish your dinner. It’ll only take a moment, right? And you’ll be at peak performance, which is what we all need. Celebrate getting the case open.”

“I suppose. Thankfully the person who brought it left before you got back, otherwise...” 

Zsasz tilted his head. “What even do you eat?”

“Uh. Whatever human food isn’t rock-hard when frozen. And regular beverages barely above freezing. It’s like if you could only drink scalding coffee the rest of your life. Tedious but doable. I don’t have to eat or drink as often as I used to, though. Or sleep much.” Fries shifted on his lab bench to get more comfortable and pulled over his tray.

“What happens after you eat and drink?”

Fries was a real scientist and didn’t freak out at the question. “All my body fluids, so far as I can tell, are supercooled liquids. They flow fine inside but crystallize when they emerge. For example, my sweat turns into frost. Extrapolate from there.”

Could be worse, Zsasz supposed. Happier question time. “Do you like frozen margaritas?”

Fries picked up his cutlery. “I haven’t left Indian Hill since I became like this.”

“Doesn’t mean there aren’t any frozen margaritas. I don’t know how this kooky place works.” Zsasz sat back down and took out the water and one of the Power Bars his sexy/deadly entourage made him bring. They were going to be so very smug. “Start eating. You can do both at the same time. There’s a rhythm to it. Who was the last person you ate with?”

“Who do you think?” Fries snapped, flashing a glare at him.

Zsasz sighed. Right, some people were really sad about their loved ones for years before it turned into light wistfulness. Not days. He needed to remember that. (Almost everyone who heard about the Zsaszette Butch killed had been insultingly surprised that Zsasz grieved at all. Zsasz had feelings, he was simply on a different emotional scale.) “Okay, shoulda seen that coming. I’ll bug you after you’re done with your meal, then.”

A long silence and lots of respective chewing on both sides of the window later, Fries said quietly, “You can bug me some more now.”

****

Jonathan washed his face and stared at himself in the mirror. He didn’t have an en suite like Fish and Bridgit had in the rooms they shared, originally Hugo Strange’s for when he didn’t feel like going all the way home for the night. However, he shared a relatively private hall bathroom with only two other people: Fish’s trusted helper and all-around nice guy Kelly, and weird-but-okay Basil. The other full-time residents had to deal with more communal arrangements. It was better than the old days of bedpans for the ones in cells and catheters for the constant lab specimens.

He looked terrible, but there was nothing for it. The janitor hadn’t been able to stay more than a few minutes after tucking him in, and Jonathan had resisted the urge to grab his elbow and not let go. 

The quartet in the diversionary tunnels needed to stay put for the night, and it was Jonathan’s job to make sure they would. After really getting into someone’s head, Jonathan could sense their location for the following few hours when he concentrated, so finding Cobblepot wouldn’t be hard. He didn’t try to track anyone else at the moment. Waste of energy. The important quartet was likely still together; Fish had told him not to worry about the other two unless she said so. It was a matter of getting there. He decided to ride his bike. Everyone would get out of his way. Everyone knew who he was and what he could do. 

(Once, while looking for pictures for his wall, Jonathan had found a photo of a peregrine falcon on a hunter’s arm, tethered and blindfolded. He tore it up and drew the full face of Scarecrow under his bed.)

****

 _They’re probably really tired of your facts about tunnels and caves,_ Mirror Ed opined. He didn’t need light on him for Ed to see him walking alongside the group.

“Are you tired of my facts about tunnels and caves?” Ed asked aloud.

“Yes,” Harvey announced from a few feet ahead.

“I don’t care what you think about me anymore, Harvey!” Ed looked at Oswald. “Are you tired of my facts about tunnels and caves?”

“Right now I’m just glad to hear you talking,” Oswald said, leaning heavily on his cane and keeping a firm grip on Ed’s hand. They’d taken several breaks for his sake, but it was hard on him anyway.

“While it’s preferable to Captain Bullock’s jokes, I would be grateful if you perhaps switched to other geographic features,” Falcone said.

Ed thought for a moment. “I know a fair amount about volcanoes. For example, the Krakatoa eruption in Indonesia was the first truly global disaster -”

Then the second truly local disaster hit them. More tremors. Aftershocks, or another earthquake. It didn’t matter. Ed tossed off his backpack and threw himself over Oswald again.

“If this is it, I love you,” he said.

“If this is it, I love you more, but also you’re hurting me.”

“Oops, sorry.” Ed adjusted his weight. 

“It’s alright, dearest.”

And if it was the end, best to go out kissing. Only logical.

Over the noise of the heaving Earth, Ed heard Harvey saying, “If this isn’t it, I want someone to kill me right after.”

Ed did not want to go out arguing with Harvey Bullock, so he stayed propped up on his elbows and wishing there was more light, so that he could die seeing Oswald’s freckles and not only his vague outline and eyes. Those eyes were worth it, though.

 _Can’t you tell what’s going on?_ Mirror Ed said urgently over Ed’s shoulder. Ed didn’t want to go out arguing with him, either.

Eventually the tremors stopped. Ed and Oswald sat up and shone their flashlights around. There had been a cave-in on both sides of them. They were separated from the other two and boxed in.

“Oh dear,” Ed said. They hadn’t told anyone they were coming, as part of Falcone’s deal with Harvey.

“Gabe’s under standing orders to come look for me after twenty-four hours of no contact,” Oswald said, looking unhappy. “I should have made it shorter.”

Ed put down his flashlight and unzipped his bag. “Besides what I’ve already mentioned, I brought extra water, tea in a thermos that I think may still be hot, a pack of Kleenex, some of your painkillers, a flare, my favorite switchblade, two of those super-thin but effective space blankets, and oh, might I interest you in a tea sandwich? I brought as many as would fit.” He hadn’t actually brought any forensics equipment other than gloves, a tiny fold-out magnifying glass, and a few small swabs for safely verifying cocaine and heroin. A lot of space left over. 

“You are ridiculous and I love you _more_ ,” Oswald said, accepting a sandwich. “Also I’ll have painkillers, please. It’s been...quite the day.”

“It has.”

The painkillers made Oswald drowsy after their improvised picnic, so they folded their jackets into impromptu pillows and cuddled together under the space blankets.

“You’re right, these look like foil but they’re really warm.”

“People should give NASA more credit,” Ed said. There were times when he got tired of being big spoon and demanded to switch, but if ever there were a time for him to assume that particular utensil’s role, this was it.

It wasn’t until Oswald was asleep that Mirror Ed showed up again. It didn’t matter that Ed had carefully put his glasses in a hard case inside his backpack. He could see his reflection/Id/enemy/ally/torment with perfect clarity. _Helloooooo? You ready to listen to me now?_

“If you insist, I’ve got nothing else to do,” Ed said, too softly for Oswald to hear.

 _I wanted to tell you earlier but these days you don’t see me when you’re...._ He made a face. _When you’re thinking all the time about your sugar daddy there. I can’t get a word in edgewise._

There was a pebble digging into Ed’s ribs. Much less annoying than this phantom, whom he thought he was done seeing when they came to their agreement about Kristen. Then he showed up in the master bathroom to give him a leering round of applause after Ed went to bed with Oswald for the first time. Ed had actually screamed, sending Oswald running to help and necessitating a lie about seeing a crane fly and briefly mistaking it for an enormous mutant mosquito, when crane flies are only thought of as monstrous because of appearances. 

“First, that’s a very vulgar thing to call Oswald. Second, what?”

His mirror self suddenly looked perturbed, and crouched down to look him in the eye. _We don’t always get along, but if you die, I die too. Trust me as an authority on the matter: that wasn’t a real earthquake. It stimulated the same part of your brain that I do. A hallucination. I don’t know how, psychoactive drugs in the air or what, but it was induced in some fashion. In all of you. You’re not even really trapped. The cave-in is fake. You’re being played._


	4. Ephiphany

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A single scene I feel deserves its own chapter. Because F/F.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the purposes of this story, the girls are 16 or 17. (To clarify, Jonathan is nearly 19.)
> 
> These two don't get nearly enough spotlight. Also, I needed this on multiple levels.

Mama had woken only two minutes after fainting, but they’d been very long minutes. The girls had spent the entire time carefully getting her into a recovery position on the floor for optimum breathing.

“What happened?” Bridgit had asked the moment Mama opened her eyes. 

She’d immediately sat up, looking completely composed. “I’m a bit tired, honey, no need to fret. I think we can continue our discussion with Ms. Kyle in our private quarters.”

Their quarters were a heavily secured trio of rooms: Mama’s bedroom, which used to be Strange’s, a small bathroom with a shower cubicle, and what used to be Strange’s private study but was now Bridgit’s bedroom. Only Kelly and Jonathan knew the combination to get in. Mama had some food delivered outside their door on a tray, to be eaten in Bridgit’s room, as Mama was very private. She didn't eat much, and excused herself to take a shower. She said she would go to bed early and for neither of them to go anywhere without permission.

The moment Selina was sure it was safe to eat, she’d started scarfing down anything someone hadn’t already claimed. Bridgit paused in asking her questions - Mama didn’t have the energy to do more on Selina’s mind, but the truth compulsion was working - and just watched her. 

She was really nice to watch. Strong and graceful, but also very grounded. No-nonsense. Quick. Settled in her own skin. 

“What?” Selina asked once she’d cleaned her plate. 

“I feel really comfortable and happy with you,” Bridgit said, not wanting to dress it up. 

Selina blinked a few times. “Well, uh, good.”

“How do you feel with me?”

“That’s not fair. Uh. I’m really glad you’re alive. I feel like this is a dream. I’m really frustrated you don’t remember me. I want to…” She put her hand over her mouth, clearly struggling.

Bridgit took pity. “You can stop.”

“You feel comfortable with me,” Selina said slowly, licking sauce off her fingers. It was distracting.

“Yeah, uh, uh huh. I talked to someone who at least sorta understands what was done to our heads.” Nobody was allowed to know about Mr. Fries’ continued presence - including residents and staff - unless they absolutely needed to, so Bridgit didn’t name names. “He said people have different kinds of memory. Like, conscious memories of the past, which is what almost all of us residents _ain’t_ got. Then there’s learned knowledge, like stuff you learn in school, not personal memory, and that’s hit-and-miss. Like I randomly still know fifth-grade geometry. Then there’s emotional memory, so like certain things will make us sad or happy and whatnot? And we don’t know why? But it’s there. Also there’s ‘procedural’ memory, which is how to do stuff. That’s how I can still talk and dress myself, read and write and tie my shoes and junk.”

“Hmm. You got any string? Yarn? Like in a drawer?” Selina jerked her head towards Bridgit’s desk, where she sat when working on inventory or writing in her journal. 

“Why?”

“I’m curious to see if you remember something I taught you.”

“Ooh!” Bridgit darted over to rifle through her desk drawers, but she came up empty.

“Two shoelaces tied together might work,” Selena said. “I should take off my shoes if we’re going to sit on your bed and not on the floor, anyway. More...comfortable.”

“Yeah, okay.” 

Selina took off her kickass black boots and started unlacing them, tongue to the side of her mouth between her teeth. Her gray socks had wobbily-darned holes in them. Bridgit took off her shoes, too, and joined her sitting cross-legged on her bed. The bedspread had a firefly design, a past Christmas gift. 

“Do you remember the term Cat’s Cradle?” Selina asked, tying the shoelaces together. “This is gonna be clumsier than usual but I think it’ll work.”

“No.”

“That’s okay. Just watch.”

“I like watching you.”

Selina’s gaze dropped to the bedspread. “I’ve noticed,” she said quietly.

Bridgit marvelled at how that should have felt awkward, but didn’t. “So it’s a game?”

“Yeah. Mostly little girls play it. We were little. I’m rusty.” She stretched the ring of shoelaces out between her hands and did some loops with her fingers. This resulted in a design. “This is the basic Cat’s Cradle. Now I’m gonna transfer it to you.”

“How?”

“The point is to see if you remember how, Bridge.” The nickname seemed to come so easily to her. 

Fries had said it was the memory of how. How she knew how to pick up a pencil. How to ride a bicycle. How to jump rope. Things she could do without thinking. Bridgit therefore did not think. Bridgit reached out with thumbs and forefingers and pinched the center of each X.

Selina’s hands and voice were steady. “Good. Keep going.”

Still pinching, Bridgit moved them farther apart, making the shoelaces as taut as they would go. She pointed her fingers down, and sort of scooped the middle, gently, so gently…

Now Selina reached over to slip the loops over Bridgit’s fingers. Her fingers were rough and calloused from climbing and, like, burgling and being cool and all. They were also warm. Sun-warm, not fire-warm. 

Then Bridgit was able to draw her hands back. The cradle was hers now. She stared down at it. Then she looked up at Selina. “Cat?”

“Cat’s Cradle, that’s what I…”

“No! Cat! You’re Cat!” Something was tight and tight in Bridgit’s chest, seconds away from bursting. “You taught me this in second grade during recess. It was raining, so we sat under the rusty slide.”

Her eyes were round. “Oh. My. God.”

“You let me have your Tater Tots at lunch when you found out I hadn’t had any breakfast. It was raining, and there were boys playing Robots versus Aliens yelling.” Then everything else came crashing back. Everything. A whole lifetime of pain and joy and fear and laughter and hunger and loneliness and grief and hurt and healing and love. And love.

Selina put her hands over her mouth again, more loosely. “Bridgit?”

Shaking, Bridgit felt tears sliding down her face but couldn’t stop smiling, either. “I’m so sorry, I should have listened to you, I shouldn’t have…”

“Don’t you dare blame yourself for your asshole brothers. Don’t be sorry to me. Don’t be sorry to goddamn anybody.” Selina yanked off the shoelaces and wrapped her arms around Bridgit. It turned into a mutual, absolutely sobbing embrace.

It got hard to breathe, so Bridgit fetched tissues for both of them. They pulled themselves together.

“What were you gonna say earlier?” Bridgit asked. “Before I let you off the hook?”

Selina blew her nose. “I’ve tried. Other people, I mean. There was this boy who was interesting, but he thinks he’s better than me, and he’s also got some serious issues? We’re chill with each other now, but that’s a dead end if we wanna be more than pals. I’ll tell you in detail sometime. You ‘died’ years ago, and we were just kids, but I haven’t gotten you out of me, Bridgit. You’ve been stuck inside, stuck like glue in the place where I hardly have anything at all. It’s hard for me to say these things. Do you know?”

“I think I remember.” 

Three years was a long time to think someone’s dead, and an even longer time to forget someone was yours. Bridgit put a hand on either side of Selina’s face and kissed her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Babitha I enjoy, but Firecat (my own coinage, is there something else?) punches me in the GUT anytime I think about what it could have been.


	5. Revelation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote a lot of this over the weekend before deciding to separate out the previous chapter, which means you get lots of content in short succession, yay.

As was common for people in violent lines of work, Zsasz had a habit of quickly falling asleep any time he felt himself to be in secure location and had nothing else pressing (or super entertaining) to do. You never knew when you’d get another chance. After Fries had finished eating and returned to reassembling his suit, he’d fallen into preoccupied silence. If Zsasz had been more tech-oriented he might have found simply watching the reassembly interesting, but it soon turned into watching a guy peering at incomprehensible objects while attaching them to other incomprehensible objects.

As was also common for people in violent lines of work, Zsasz woke to full awareness the second anything unexpected happened. In this case, an announcement broadcast over speakers. It was a slightly hoarse young man’s voice, sounding tired but also confident in authority.

_Hello, Jonathan Crane here. Ms. Mooney has instructed me to inform both the departing Day Shift and the incoming Night Shift that tomorrow will be a holiday for you all. We residents will look after ourselves as we do on Sundays and your normal holidays. Congratulations. Sid will be doing his usual sweeps to make sure there have been no misunderstandings. He will have me clear up those misunderstandings. Please don’t add to my workload. Thanks._

Fries’ door opened. He emerged wearing two-thirds of something the 1930s thought spacesuits might look like one day. “If Sid is going to run through here shortly, you two should hide in here. I’m not finished, but there’s enough that I can uncomfortably survive a temperature you uncomfortably would as well, if I continue working while wearing what I have now.”

Zsasz whistled, and Butch came running. That was always fun.

Fries frowned even more. “Your dynamic…”

“I’m very dynamic,” Zsasz said, deliberately acting like he misunderstood. He gave Butch a pat on the arm. “We’re hiding from Sid now. Whoever Sid is.”

“Sid has super-speed. He can easily run all the way through the entirety of Indian Hill that isn’t off-limits to him.”

“Huh. Under other circumstances, figuring out how to fight a guy with super-speed might be fun.” Zsasz wondered how he protected his skin from dust and bugs. Was he also super durable? 

“Sid doesn’t linger, though, and is unlikely to stop and check to see what temperature my quarters are.” Fries stepped over to the thermostat outside his window and turned it to above freezing, though Zsasz noticed it was not by much.

They had to wait a bit for the thawing to take effect, so Zsasz was generous and let Butch sit in the chair for a change. “Vodka gummy bear? They do get blobby after all the soaking, but they’re pretty good.”

“Thanks?” Butch let Zsasz put it in his hand but looked at it warily rather than eating it. 

“C’mon, Butch, don’t be like that. Since when have I ever been coy about hurting you? I’ve always just gone ahead and done it. That’s how it works. Don’t overthink.” Zsasz ate one of the others to demonstrate their harmlessness. Butch then ate his.

When the temperature was endurable, though really damn cold, Fries ushered them in and closed the door behind them. Butch brought in the chair. Interestingly, Fries had a toilet and mirror but no sink or shower. Overall a very basic living area: a twin-size bed, bedside table, degrees on the wall, pic of his dead wife, calendar, dry-erase board, and for some reason a photo of a dude with a smushed face. Zsasz took a peek at the connected lab and saw that besides the sciencey stuff, table, and bench, there was a shelf full of textbooks and tech manuals bolted to the wall. The pages had to be stiff as hell.

“I could use your help assembling the suit,” Fries said. “Awkward working on it while wearing it. If you need to sleep, do it in shifts. Once the suit is done, I will need your help with a device I have been working on for years but could not finish without someone of normal temperature assisting me. It should take less than four hours if you follow instructions well.”

“What?” Zsasz poked the bedspread. It was crispy but soggifying. Butch cautiously perched on it, as much as a hulking man like him could perch. 

“On top of the loyal residents being willing to fight for her, the staff and her coerced assistant Jonathan are under a compulsion to kill anyone who is violent towards Mooney.” A smirk ghosted across his lips. “However, she has made no instructions in the event of me removing her powers.” 

“Hey, cool,” Zsasz said sincerely, but also stretching. Sometimes you gotta stretch. “So in the meantime, no touchy the Fishy?”

“No touchy the Fishy,” Fries said gravely, shifting a bit of armor on his arm into a better location. 

“What if someone was already under someone else’s programming?” Zsasz asked, for Butch’s benefit. 

Fries stopped to consider this apparently new notion. “If the programming ran very deep and prohibited submission to someone else, that might work. I don’t know anyone who could do something like that, however.”

Butch wasn’t permitted to disclose his condition to others, so Zsasz was unconcerned when he raised his hand. “If you don’t mind my asking, who’s Jonathan?”

Fries beckoned them into the lab with him. “There are a number of people here who have special abilities. Most of them are loyal to Mooney for killing Strange, who gave many of them those abilities by...unpleasant means. Jonathan’s situation is more complicated. Not only do I prefer him alive, I suspect Falcone will as well. I can provide both of you with a sedative that would work on him. Conventional ones might not. A number of people here could kill you. Jonathan’s the only one who could drive you insane.”

Careful not to touch any lab stuff without being told, Zsasz crossed his arms in front of him. “Do tell.”

****

After making his big announcement as previously instructed, Jonathan stopped by the mess hall and grabbed something to take back to his room. Technically, you weren’t supposed to do that. Nor were you supposed to take a bicycle in there. Nobody but Fish really enforced rules with Jonathan, though. He felt he’d earned being a brat for the evening. 

The pretty blond blur that was Sid slowed to keep pace with Jonathan’s careful bike riding. “Anything special you want me to do, Crane?”

“Just the usual,” Jonathan said. He’d given up on getting more than a few people here to use his first name. They called Bridgit by her first name when she asked, and she could burn them to a crisp if she felt like it. He supposed when your powers included fear itself, not a lot of people would ever see past it. 

“Got it -” Sid flinched and squeaked when Jonathan grabbed his forearm. “What?”

“Don’t you wish you could run farther? Miles? And miles, and miles under the real sky, in fields and on roads and up mountains?”

Sid shrugged. “Yeah, sure, but I wouldn’t do well up there on my own. Probably get killed by a prejudiced mob or something.”

“You don’t know that.”

After a tense silence, Sid asked, “Can, uh, you let go of me now? You’re squeezing kinda hard.”

“Crap, sorry. Carry on.” Jonathan watched him zip away. That was the essence of Fish Mooney - Sid was thankful she didn’t chain him to a treadmill like Strange used to, but couldn’t see that he was simply on a _longer_ chain. 

(And that was the essence of how people thought about Jonathan - someone with far more physical prowess asking for permission to escape his weak hands.)

First to the bathroom, to use the toilet and wash his hands. Jonathan didn’t want to emerge from his bedroom again for as long as possible. He propped his bicycle against a wall in the corridor as usual. Nobody would steal from him here, at least. 

He locked his bedroom door behind him and prepared to flop on the bed. Then someone crawled out from underneath it and he almost shrieked. He realized just in time that it was a lithe green-eyed human, not a ragged flame-eyed scarecrow. 

“Why were you under my bed?” Jonathan spluttered.

“Because your wardrobe is too small and full of stuff. Couldn’t be sure it wasn’t Ms. Mooney poking her head in or something.” She had a skeleton key but pledged not to use it if Jonathan yelled for her not to from within. 

Jonathan rolled his eyes. “Fine, then what are you doing? You’re the day shift janitor. You should have left for home.”

“I’m not on duty, so you might as well use my name,” Nefyn Pontiac said with dignity as he tried and failed to emerge without ruining Jonathan’s latest chalk landscape. He’d changed out of his jumpsuit and was now in black sweatpants with a black tee and an unzipped black hoodie. On the other hand, his longish brown hair was tied back with an electric blue elastic rather than the black one he used while working. 

“You’re not answering my question.”

Nefyn got to his feet and colorfully dusted himself off. “Like hell I’m leaving you alone for a whole day when you’re passing out all over the place and refusing to tell anyone but me. You’re gonna let me hide in here and I’m going to look after you.”

How could that be so annoying and reassuring at the same time? “Is that so?”

“That is so.”

“And what makes you think that?”

Nefyn gently but confidently pulled him over for a kiss. Jonathan sank into it. He couldn’t help it. He was so tired and so sick of all this and he just wanted to look up at the _sky_.

“Um.”

“What?”

“You’re leaking.” Nefyn pulled back but didn’t let go.

“Sorry. Tired and emotional, plus physical contact.” Jonathan focused and reinforced his mental walls. Nefyn’s expression relaxed. “If you insist on staying all night, I might do it in my sleep. Nightmares.”

He smiled ruefully. “Oh, I get plenty of my own. They can have a playdate. I’m an old soul.” 

“You’re twenty-three.”

“An old, old, oooooold soul.”

“Fine, whatever. I’ll take my full bedtime meds.” Jonathan maneuvered them to sitting on the bed.

Nefyn tucked some stray hair behind Jonathan’s ear. “Are you saying sometimes you don’t?”

“I don't skip all the time, and not on consecutive days. It’s how I’ve built up a stockpile in case I had a chance to run away.” 

“Makes sense. Don’t let my presence stop you from eating. You need it.”

“You can have some. I probably won’t want all of it.” Having his dinner while being nonchalantly held was a new experience. Kinda nice. Restful.

What was less restful was a cockroach running across the floor. What was even less restful was Nefyn’s gasp and a THWACK noise as a penknife expertly pinned the now ex-roach to the tiles.

“What the hell?”

Nefyn cringed. “Sorry, I hate roaches so much.”

Jonathan got up and went to look at it. “Bullseye. Not that it kept its structural integrity very well. Kinda weird for a janitor to be squeamish.”

“Not at all. I get paid to kill undesirable lifeforms. It’s great.”

“Also kinda weird for a janitor to be that good with knives.” Jonathan turned on his heel and crossed his arms.

“Everyone has hobbies.” Nefyn sighed. “Just scan my emotions or something. Do I have malicious intent towards you?”

“I don’t like scanning your emotions.” He’d done it a few times already. 

“Why?”

Jonathan went back to curling up with him on the bed. He hadn’t brought more than one set of cutlery, so he was using the fork and Nefyn was using his fingers. “Not sure what to do with how much you like me.”

“Continued existence should about cover it,” Nefyn said, kissing his temple.

“I’m not gonna have sex with you until I’m free, by the way.” They needed to be equals. Jonathan wasn’t going to give over his virginity under less than completely empowered circumstances.

“Wasn’t gonna push. Want me to sleep on the floor? Or under the bed? At least we know I fit down there.”

Jonathan laughed. “I think we can both manage to fit.”

A companionable silence later, Nefyn said, “You ever been to the Grand Canyon? I haven’t. We could drive there. Seeing other places on the way, I mean, it’d be silly just to blitz there with blinders on. I can quit my job here if Herself won’t let me have the time off. She’s pledged to let us staff quit if we want when the vendetta’s over, and I have skills.”

One of the reasons Jonathan’s wardrobe was so full was the rolling suitcase he kept perpetually packed. Nefyn was the one who’d smuggled it in for him. He rested his head on Nefyn’s shoulder. “I’d like that.”

****

Selina was not prone to embarrassment, which was good. Because Fish Mooney catching her and Bridgit snuggling in bed stark naked would probably have made her die of embarrassment. Bridgit certainly seemed to be trying to smother herself under the covers.

Fish pondered the sight for a few seconds before saying, “Either you’ve got serious game, Selina, or you were already girlfriends and something shook Bridgit’s memory loose.”

“Second,” Bridgit mumbled from her refuge.

“Hm. That has interesting implications for the amnesiac residents, not that I’ll tell them the exact circumstances.” Her toned softened. “You’re a big girl, Bridgit, it’s not my business. I actually did knock several times.”

“It didn’t seem important,” Selina said, yawning. Nothing else seemed to, not right now.

“You should be decent for a casual breakfast in this room within fifteen minutes. Jonathan’s joining us.” Then she withdrew.

Selina couldn’t help but giggle, which set Bridgit off. They kissed lazily a few more times - Bridgit swatted Selina’s hand for trying a last “tasteful sideboob” grope - before emerging from their nest. 

“Are you finally gonna tell me about Jonathan?” Selina asked as they made their way to the bathroom. Still naked. Too bad they couldn’t be like that all day. 

“I didn’t outright say so, but Mama’s not the only person here with powers,” Bridgit said. “Dr. Hugo Strange, who ran this place before Mama stopped him, did things to us. Most of it hurt.”

“Oh God, I’m so sorry.” She felt irrationally like she should have figured it out and stormed the place much earlier.

“It’s okay. Mine’s kinda cool. So I’m fireproof, which is good, because also…” Bridgit held out her hands, and a flame appeared just beyond the tip of each finger, like her fingers were candles. Then a fireball floating above her palms. Then she closed her hands, and all of them vanished.

“Whoa! That is the coolest thing ever. You’ll never starve with an ability like that, one way or another.” Selina felt grubby, so she turned on the shower to get the temperature right before climbing in. Bridgit went in after her in unspoken agreement.

“I’ll let Jonathan tell you what he can do,” Bridgit said, and distracted Selina very well.

Twenty minutes later, Selina decided whatever Jonathan could do couldn’t be possibly related to brawn. He was a reedy boy not much older than them, and looked like he probably got bullied in school. On the other hand, he had an intensity to his stare and a seriousness to his words that made her think he might have gotten back at those bullies by quietly ruining their lives from behind the scenes. 

“Toast?” he asked Selina when she and Bridgit emerged from the bathroom, reasonably clothed. On the same low table they’d eaten dinner from was a tray of various simple foods along with coffee and orange juice. “There’s jam.”

“Jonathan, Selina,” Fish said, pointing unnecessarily. “Selina’s on our side now. Right?”

Selina took Bridgit’s hand. It was a good excuse. “Yes, ma’am.”

“I need you to remove the illusion from her mind, Jonathan.”

Jonathan nodded and did a loose gesture with his right hand. “You’ll now be able to accurately see that nothing’s caved in.”

“Nothing’s caved in?” It was so fricken’ real, though, sights and sounds and even the feeling of the earth trembling.

“Nothing. I made you all think it was. There’s been no earthquake.” Jonathan took his first bite of toast and munched like he didn’t have a care in the world. Which was a lie, she could tell. Dark circles under your eyes and a hunched posture like that meant having lots of cares.

“Jonathan makes you see things, but he’s best at scary things,” Bridgit said, taking a seat next to him. “How are you?”

Jonathan made a so-so gesture. She gave him a half-hug before piling up her own plate. Selina joined them.

Stirring cream into her coffee, Fish said, “Last night Sid rescued a pair of staff members tied up in a closet. From their descriptions, it seems they were attacked by Victor Zsasz and Butch Gilzean, though they don’t know why. Sid was unable to locate them. Can you sense them, Jonathan?”

“Sorry, no, it’s been too long since I got into their minds.” Jonathan genuinely looked super distressed at that and slumped against Bridgit.

Meanwhile, Fish looked distressed that Jonathan was distressed. She probably had similar feelings for Jonathan as Bridgit, though Selina bet Jonathan was harder to handle. “No, don’t worry. We’ll do it the old-fashioned way. Focus on your original task, and we’ll have Bridgit and Selina search for them. Selina can lure them into false security. Kelly will continue to keep an eye out on the security cameras.”

“What’s that sticking out of your pocket?” Selina asked Jonathan.

He pulled it out and held it up. It was an ugly burlap mask with gaping eyes and a sloppy slash of a mouth. “Prop.”

“You know I love you dearly,” Fish murmured, pouring him a glass of juice. Jonathan drank without saying anything. 

****

Oswald woke aching like he hadn’t ached ever since that time he woke up from charitable old ladies nudging him with concern after another near miss. Instead of old ladies, this was dimly lit Ed repeatedly shoving at the pile of rocks and dirt separating them from Harvey and Falcone. “I don’t think you’ll be able to move it on your own, dearest,” Oswald croaked.

“I’ve worked out a rationing schedule and determined that we still have enough water that you can take a sip now and we’ll be in good shape by the time I have calculated Gabriel is likely to find us, assuming nobody else does first,” Ed said rapidly without turning to look at him. 

It took self-control to not gulp down a whole lot of water, but Oswald at least got to wet his throat. He noticed that Ed wasn’t trying to remove rocks or dig, which would have been logical, if hopeless. It looked like he was trying to stick his arm through. “You’ll exhaust yourself. Come sit with me.”

Ed shook his head and rubbed his face in his hands. Under his breath, barely audible, he was saying, “No, I’m going to handle this. I can do it. I don’t need you. Not in front of Oswald. We won’t be trapped here forever regardless, help is coming, it’s not like it used to be when I only had _you_ to help me.”

Oswald painfully got to his feet and grabbed his cane. He approached Ed. “Are you okay?”

After a pause, Ed straightened up, removed his glasses, and put them in his shirt pocket. His smile was wide yet cold, somehow, like the smile Ed got when he was about to take someone apart. Not that he seemed to want to take Oswald apart, but with that same knapped flint quality. “I am absolutely fine and dandy. Give me a second.”

Then he ran straight at the wall. And disappeared.

A few seconds of Oswald’s horror later, Ed reappeared again. With glasses, and with the appropriate body language and look in his eye. “Oswald, I figured it out. Hallucinogens. Naturally occurring from some kind of unknown gas pocket, or some kind of automatic security measure, I don't know.

“During a case?” Oswald asked cautiously.

“Yeah. During a case.” Ed rubbed his face again. “It’s even possible that the exit we first came in might be clear. I’ve been scratching question marks on tunnel walls every so often, so even though I didn’t use the rope we may be able to go back.”

“I didn’t notice you doing that.”

“I’ve gotten better at hiding more of my quirks than people think.”

Something in Ed’s tone made Oswald want to comfort him, so he embraced him and kissed his cheek. “You don’t need to hide them from me.”

They luxuriated in the touch for a moment, then Ed broke away to say, “I saw Captain Bullock and Falcone. They’re asleep. Huddled against each other, actually. I wish I could take a picture. I don’t think they can perceive us in any way while we’re on this side. It’s a fascinating illusion.”

There were a number of things Oswald could have said to this, but what came out was, “We should kill them.”

Ed stepped back, looking askance. “What?”

“Falcone’s wronged me, Bullock’s wronged you. We could take over the Mob _and_ the GCPD. Directly or with a puppet.”

“That sounds awfully complicated.”

“I can do all things with you by my side, Ed! We’re too great a pair to continue being glorified lackeys.” Oswald raised an eyebrow. “Don’t you have an actual itemized list of all the insults Bullock called you over the years while you were doing almost all the work of solving cases for him? It’ll be as satisfying as Dougherty.”

“This would open up a lot of opportunities...” Ed mused, stroking his chin.

Oswald took out his gun. “They’ll be taken completely by surprise. Show me how you ran through the barrier.”

Ed took out his switchblade. He was less likely to carry a gun than Oswald was unless he had violent plans, partly because he was more an Idea Guy than an Action Guy, and partly because he was a terrible shot. “Take my hand. Ignore what your senses tell you. Closing your eyes might help. Imagine it’s Platform 9 ¾.”

“That last tip does not help me at all.” Closing his eyes did help. He put his full trust in Ed, which was not difficult, and followed him through.

Carmine Falcone and Harvey Bullock must have gotten cold in their sleep and smushed up against each other. This was actually a merciful death for both. They wouldn’t feel a thing. Oswald aimed at Falcone and clicked off the safety. Ed knelt, ready to slit Bullock’s throat.

Then the screeching demonic crows attacked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why yes, that was a reference to Anthony Carrigan's role as a villain on _The Flash_. 
> 
> Jonathan's just in time for Halloween!


	6. Insanity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A belated Halloween treat for you.
> 
> TW: more direct reference to child abuse than usual for this fic, and there's a lot of hallucinating/disassociation.

Over the course of Harvey Bullock’s increasingly colorful career, he’d woken up in a variety of odd circumstances. On the floor of a bar. During a stakeout with people shooting at him. A regrettable choice of a one-night stand offering freshly made Chocolate Chirp Pancakes full of crickets she’d harvested herself. After an excessively pleasant dream about Jim that made him unable to look his partner in the eye all day.

He had never expected to wake under the following circumstances. 1. In an underground tunnel. 2. Nestled against Carmine Falcone. 3. Being attacked by evil birds with fiery eyes, howling like banshees.

But yeah, these black birds, probably crows, were screeching in a very un-crowlike manner. Like those eyes were because they’d been force-fed hot coals by some sadistic bastard. Harvey pushed past the urge to curl up in a ball in the hopes of being left alone. He got to his feet, but he still screamed like he’d never screamed before. It wasn’t just the crows themselves. It was this overpowering feeling of violent terror, a writhing, spitting thing trying to crush his lungs and freeze his bone marrow.

Ed and Penguin were shrieking and clinging to each other. No surprise there. Falcone silent but rigid, fixed to the spot and slightly shaking. No surprise there, either.

An impossible to measure amount of time after that, a Thing appeared. It looked like a scarecrow with a head full of flames, which made sense in a twisted way, and it was wielding a scythe about half as long as it was tall. The blade was dripping with blood. The scarecrow's voice came from the depths of Hell.

 **“Three of you have unpardonably wronged the one I serve,”** it growled. **"Oswald Cobblepot, by betrayal. Carmine Falcone, by rewarding that betrayal. And Edward Nygma, by pledging yourself to Cobblepot in all things, and thus deserve to share in every part of his fate."**

“I regret nothing!” Ed declared. Under the circumstances, Harvey had to give him props.

 **“Quiet! You may have forgotten Fish Mooney and left her for dead, but she has not forgotten you. She has charged me with what is only the first part of your unending torture, and I have driven you insane. You will be plagued by your worse fears until - unless - I see fit to release you."** The scarecrow was suddenly much closer. Its voice got quieter, but not softer. **“Harvey Bullock, Ms. Mooney has no grudge against you and remembers your friendliness in the past. Run with all your fellows with only my crows as your ghosts, and throw yourself upon her mercy.”**

The horrible thing flew ahead of them in a tattered swirl. That’s when things went seriously weird in Harvey’s brain.

_I’m six years old and I’m curious and went in the back room of a department store but there are these pale plastic women and they have no faces, they are wearing clothes but many not fully dressed some of them do not have arms. It is dark, and I am so small and when I blink I think I see them move. Now they are walking towards me, now they are faster and faster and it is dark. They move stiffly. If they touch me I will lose my face. They must not. Nonononono._

The elderly Falcone was running as fast as Harvey, which said things about Harvey’s fitness vs. the depth of Falcone’s store mannequin phobia.

_I do not even see her, just hear her voice. “Liebchen,” she cries like the wind in winter. “They buried me alive. Why didn’t you linger? My fingernails are full of splinters. Help me pry them out, Oswald, I’m so lonely, I’m so cold. You are close. Come closer. None shall warm you more...”_

Jesus.

_I don’t know what I did this time but he’s taken off his belt and he’s red-faced and he’s yelling, “Eddie, get over here now! You’re only making this worse for yourself, you little freak, I thought I beat you hard enough last time to get some sense in you but I guess you’re always going to be -”_

Then something really bizarre happened. While everyone was fleeing devil-crows, Falcone was dealing with a childhood fright, and Penguin and Ed had staggering mommy and daddy issues respectively, a figure appeared in _front_ of them rather than behind. It looked exactly like Ed, down to the clothes, except less rumpled and without glasses. It was running towards the scarecrow. " _B_ _reak his concentration, but don’t kill him! We need answers!"_

Harvey decided he could do worse than follow the advice of the least threatening monster present. He took out his gun and shot in the direction of the scarecrow, deliberately missing.

The fear was not gone, but it was less severe. The crows, dummies, and parents vanished. The Ed double was gone as well. Instead, a bicycle clattered to the floor of the tunnel, and the rider crumpled beside it in a self-preserving heap. There was a creepy scarecrow mask, sure, but the body was wearing jeans, a t-shirt, and a partially unzipped hoodie.

Before Harvey had a chance to do anything except try to catch his breath, the cuckoo lovebirds were upon him, quickly hitting him a few times with Penguin’s cane to get him to stay down and binding his wrists and ankles behind him using their own neckties and hankies. Ed had left his backpack and his spool of rope behind. This took two minutes at most.

Harvey glanced at Falcone, who seemed very calm about it all, though he was taking a longer drink from the hip flask he’d been nursing than usual. Harvey thought that was a great idea and had some from own, beautifully monogrammed flask. Which had been a gift. From Falcone. That didn’t count as a bribe. It had been an expression of tolerance and goodwill when Harvey took control. Not that Harvey let Jim know about it. “I get why you like having them as a set.”

“They’re certainly more valuable that way,” Falcone said. Then he raised his voice. “Thank you, gentlemen, but I’ll ask the questions. No spontaneous roughhousing no matter how afraid we’re all artificially feeling at the moment. Help him kneel.”

They did. Ed, drama queen, dramatically whisked off the mask before stepping back. Penguin remained in easy striking distance, though he went back to leaning on his cane instead of brandishing it.

There was something familiar about this face, though Harvey couldn’t place it immediately. Looked to be a pale teenage boy, his brown hair sweat-streaked and wild, and looking as scared as everyone was feeling right now. “Please don’t hurt me.”

“Not if you cooperate. Turn off this...fear,” Falcone said.

“I’m trying to! I’ve stopped everything I was doing on purpose but I’m so tired that I’m leaking a bit of my own emotions. I think I might have accidentally let everyone else's worst fear experience bleed into Bullock's head a tiny bit. I swear that’s all it is. Give me a moment.” He closed his eyes. “I’m in a box. Nothing that should not be inside the box is inside the box. Nothing that should not leave the box is leaving the box. The box is clear, and I can see and hear what is outside. The box is safe. The box is safe.”

The sense of fear decreased significantly, though it didn’t die down a hundred percent. Falcone looked to meet the kid’s eyes. “Thank you. You said you serve Fish Mooney.”

“Yes, sir, I said that.” Polite, at least.

“She’s alive.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Under what circumstances are you, someone who is obviously quite powerful, serving her when this is causing you considerable strain and stress?”

Oh, Falcone was considering a recruitment offer or something, wasn’t he? That man was a chess player through and through. Harvey was willing to go along with any sort of weird alliances if it got them out of this place.

The kid shifted to sit back on his haunches. “I have to, sir.”

“Why do you have to?”

“I am not permitted to say, sir.”

“Would you like to do something else?”

This took a few seconds of thought. “Not work for you while you are working with Oswald Cobblepot, sir.”

Then Harvey’s hands balled into fists. “Shit, you’re Jonathan Crane.”

The kid turned his attention to Harvey, eyebrows raised. “You know me? From before I came here?”

“Like hell I know you, Daddy’s little serial killer helper!”

“Bullock…” Falcone cautioned, but Harvey was on a roll and couldn’t stop now.

“Scotty told me all about how you walked in when your father was about to drown her, and she thought she was going to be saved. And all you did was tell him you needed change for the parking meter! I felt bad for you after the experiment backfired and we had to leave you in the hospital like that, but apparently you got all better and now you’re raising your own bit of hell. Maybe Jim shot him dead, but Gerald Crane lives on.”

“BULLOCK!” Falcone shouted.

It was too late. Jonathan crumpled sideways and curled in on himself as best he could, shivering like a tuning fork. The terror came back, harsher than ever, so much so that Harvey couldn’t move or breathe. He had never been more frightened in his life, not even moments ago, when at least there was enough of him to scream. Being frightened was his life. There was no past, no future, not even a now. Fear. All was fear. All ever would be.

Through the din of his own heartbeat, Harvey could hear Jonathan’s word-shaped gasps. “I understand. I understand. Yes, I know you love me, I know we have to do this but why does it...there’s so much, why, please do we have to….can’t we just.... _Dad, that’s too much!_ ”

As if some code phrase had been said, Ed immediately dropped down to Jonathan’s side and cut him loose.

“What are you doing?” Penguin squawked.

“Being tied up is not conducive to being talked through a PTSD flashback,” Ed said.

Harvey still couldn’t move or speak. Jonathan wasn’t moving either.

Ed took one of Jonathan’s hands. “Listen, Jonathan, whatever you’re seeing is all in the past. I know how much it hurts to feel like you’re losing it, okay? And I know what it’s like to...whether or not your father loved you, he clearly hurt you, and he clearly didn’t see the real you past his own, his own obsessions. I read his paper, Jonathan. I know how focused he was. It’s alright now. The fear you are feeling belongs to someone you aren’t anymore. Let him have it. It’s not your job to carry it. Can you hear me, Jonathan? Who am I?”

Without adjusting to make their relative positions less awkward, Jonathan squeezed the hand and said, “Um. Edward Nygma. You read his paper?”

“I did. Brilliant, but not altogether...healthy. You don’t have to _not_ be his son, but you don’t have to be any more of his son than you want to be.”

Jonathan reached up and clung to him like he was one of those small fish that latched onto sharks for a ride. Ed flailed for a second before resigning himself to his fate and hugging back. The fear drained away again. Harvey breathed in sweet gulps of air.

And that was when the girl dual-wielding magic fireballs showed up, because it was that sort of day.


	7. Tumult

It was a good thing Bridgit knew about Jonathan’s emotional leakage issues when he got pushed past a certain point. Otherwise she never would have been able to keep running towards where Mama told him to chase the intruders. The terror became stronger and stronger as she got closer. Only her brothers had been able to make her feel that scared before - the returned memories had brought them back as well as Selina, which was a worthwhile but still high price. This was Jonathan, though, her friend, and knowing that it was _his_ fear gave her the strength to reach him. She took all the shortcuts she knew and all-out sprinted. He needed her. 

At the moment where she could see dimly lit people in the tunnel, she couldn’t make a sound. The fear was that much. But when Jonathan got ahold of himself enough for Bridgit to find her voice again, she yelled, “Let him go, you dickheads, or I’ll char you!”

The one leaning over Jonathan - Nygma - shrank back and edged closer to Cobblepot. Bullock (the one Bridgit was supposed to be gentler to) pointed at her. “Are those flames real?”

“They’re real,” Nygma said. Interesting, but she didn’t have time to puzzle over that. Cobblepot and Falcone looked confused, too.

She blasted a horseshoe shape of fire beside and behind the party. It kept burning, so the only safe way to travel was in her direction, and only in single file at that. Magic fire was so much more fun than regular fire. “Jonathan, you okay?”

Jonathan pushed himself to a sitting position and then gave up. “Nygma was trying to calm me down. It helped. Don’t attack him, like, especially hard.” 

“Then Nygma, you help Jonathan up. No sudden moves. Mama wants to talk, but you can still talk when you’ve got third-degree burns. I should know.” Edward Nygma hadn’t hurt Mama directly, he was just in a relationship with Cobblepot that started after Mama came to Indian Hill. So Bridgit was willing to give him some leeway if that would help Jonathan. 

Jonathan accepted Nygma’s help and then made a sweeping gesture indicating the four men. “Bullock and Cobblepot definitely have guns and Nygma’s got a switchblade. I don’t know if Falcone has anything.”

Falcone slowly took out a small pistol and took out the ammo before handing it to Jonathan. “Gesture of good faith. I would be glad to peacefully talk with Ms. Mooney. Gentlemen?”

There was some grumbling, but the others surrendered a weapon each. Bridgit wouldn’t be surprised if there were others tucked away. It’s not like she was in a mood to strip-search them or something, though. It was enough for now.

Jonathan walked through the gap in the ring of fire. Bridgit righted Jonathan’s bicycle. He put the weapons in the front basket, which was oddly funny, and accepted a tight hug.

She said quietly, “Almost everyone’s on lockdown. If you’re too tired, get to a room with an intercom and tell Kelly to tell Mama. If you’ve got the strength, go find her at Tweaker’s Gym, okay?” Tweaker was a resident with bat wings. Strange had ordered the creation of a large space with a few platforms to jump from, to see how much flying he could actually do. The answer was more of a glide, but still useful. It was now not only for Tweaker’s practice, but also combat training and social events. 

“I can make it there,” he said. He sounded so exhausted she considered overruling him, but he was an adult and Mama did need him. “Did she put them on lockdown because of these guys?”

“No, because you shared your fear with the entirety of Indian Hill, though it got weaker the farther from you someone was.”

“Oh.”

Brigit fixed his wild hair a bit. “It’s okay. It was a good excuse. Mama doesn’t want to deal with too many people at once.”

“As long as she’s not mad.” Seriously, he was close to monotone. Oh dear. 

She made sure Jonathan was riding okay and was a ways down the tunnel before turning back to the quartet. She closed the ring of fire and walked right through it as a form of deliberate intimidation. After breakfast, she’d changed into one of the fireproof outfits Strange commissioned for her. It’d be awkward if she burned her clothes off in the process of doing her thing. Selina joked that she’d get jealous of the spectators. 

She stood among them, flexing her hands, each fingertip a candle. “You can call me ‘Miss Pike’. Let’s walk together. Questions?”

“You seem very relaxed about having Jonathan roaming around in his condition,” Cobblepot said innocently, as if it was just concern for Jonathan’s health and not really being an awful hypocrite. 

“That wasn’t a question!” Bridgit set his jacket on fire, which got a _sincere_ reaction. Nygma yanked it off him and stamped the flames out in time to avoid any bodily harm. 

“Well, uh, how about you lead the way then, Miss Pike?” Bullock asked, wiping his brow with the back of one sleeve.

****

Butch initially thought he might be having a heart attack, but Fries and Zsasz were also wincing. A female voice declared a lockdown and instructed all residents to stay in their rooms except if absolutely necessary, and then only stay in residential corridors. A female voice that filled Butch with equal amounts of sadness and joy. 

“Jonathan was likely being questioned by the rest of your party,” Fries said. “Strange’s notes suggest it’s possible for him to do a large-scale accidental broadcast of distress when pushed far enough. We need to move now.”

“Fewer people to deal with,” Zsasz said, grinning. People underestimated how much moxie was one of Zsasz’s weapons. 

Fries made sure all three of them were carrying a syringe full of sedatives calibrated for Jonathan, and he clipped the pair of bracelet-shaped devices meant to de-power Fish…

_Only my friends call me Fish. So you should, too._

....To his belt. Then he led them out of his cell.

Butch couldn’t tell how much of what he was feeling was Jonathan’s and how much was his own. He got up the courage to say to Zsasz, “I know you think I’d be immune to the, that power Fish has, but I still think I might be better suited towards taking down Jonathan or any of her other minions. You can be the one to help Fries subdue her. Maybe. Please?”

Zsasz edged into Butch’s personal space. “Aw, are you saying that ‘cause you’re still fond of Fish? That’s so sweet. Hey, you know who I was fond of?”

“Um.” Butch had no clear memory of what exactly had happened while in Zsasz’s basement, but he knew he was on thin ice.

Zsasz continued to sound perfectly normal, though. If he was pissed, there was no sign other than the words themselves. “I was very, very, very fond of Jane. The other ladies, the ones you didn’t kill, would never forgive me not taking the chance for dramatic irony. You understand.”

There was only one thing that would not be painful to say. “You got it, Boss.”

Fries turned his head. “Whatever personal business you have with each other, is it going to get in the way?”

“Not at all!” Zsasz declared. 

Then Selina Kyle dropped down out of a panel in the ceiling. “Hi, I’ve been looking for those two all over. Who are you?”

Zsasz said, “He’s a helpful local. What’s up?”

“I found the other four. I can take you to ‘em.”

Now they were following Selina instead, Fries tagging along. Zsasz and Selina ended up chatting up a casual storm with each other about what Selina had been up to. Butch tuned them out, trying to think of a way out of this mess.

He flinched when Zsasz leaned in close to whisper in his ear, but all Zsasz said was, “If she’s being honest, we join up with the others. If she got a better offer from Mooney, she’s speeding up the journey we were making anyway by taking out the guesswork. Win-win.”

She took them to a big, concrete room with stacks of crash mats piled to one side and a bunch of metal platforms bolted to walls or on pedestals. There were places with hand grips, too, for climbing, and an array of folding chairs and tables in a corner. It turned out that Selina was not technically lying. She’d found the other four. They were just trapped in a ring of fire is all.

There were three other people already in the room, and Butch was able to match the two unfamiliar ones with Fries’ descriptions. Bridgit’s hands were glowing. She had been standing watch over her prisoners, but immediately turned her head to smile at Selina as if they were the only two people in the world, let alone line of sight. Jonathan was huddled on a crash mat with a blanket draped over him, a largely drained glass beside him, and most of a burrito clenched in his hand like a good luck charm. His eyes were closed and he was taking deep breaths.

Girl of fire. Boy of fear. 

Then there was Fish, turning to look at Butch....

But before anyone had time to do anything, Fries ran from behind Butch and tried to blast ice at Fish. Bridgit got in the way, yelled for Selina to get down, and sent an exact canceling-out amount of fire right back at him. They were stuck with each other, so it was down to Butch and Zsasz.

“Go incapacitate her,” Zsasz ordered before slowly sneaking towards Jonathan like he was a woodland creature he wanted to photograph. It made more sense than charging at him, Butch supposed. Jonathan watched him but didn’t move. He looked small under the blanket, more like an undernourished fourteen or fifteen than the about-nineteen Fries had said. 

As Butch helplessly advanced, Fish made no effort to get away. She addressed him sympathetically, sweetly, with the deepest concern and sorrow. “Oh you poor darling, you’ve been stuck this way all this time. I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you, Butch. This all happened because you sacrificed yourself for me.”

“I...I can’t…” He was reaching out, and he had to, and he didn’t want to.

“You nearly threw it off once before, trying to stop Oswald throwing me off the roof. Do you remember?” She’d always respected him, thanked him, treated him more than mindless muscle with a KICK ME sign permanently on his back.

“Fish, run from me!” he gasped out, ignoring the pain in his head.

Then everything was very cold. Then it became mercifully numb, a winter sleep.

****

Fries was clearly smart and paying attention. He must have noticed Butch’s crisis, and took a few seconds from fighting Bridgit in order to cryogenically freeze Butch solid. Remove the unpredictable piece from the board. Bridgit lacked the technical knowledge to thaw Butch without risking tissue damage. Fish wondered why Fries didn’t do it to her, too. Instead, he turned and ran, creating a thick ice wall to cover his retreat.

Selina popped up. “Bridge, just for me!”

If Fish had any doubts of how long the girls must have known each other, they would have vanished with Bridgit’s instant understanding of what Selina meant. It would have taken Bridgit a long time and drain her to the point of collapse to melt the entire ice wall immediately after her battle. Bridgit melted a hole just large enough for an accomplished cat burglar to squeeze through. Which is what Selina did.

The peanut gallery imprisoned in the circle had made noises about all this, but nothing worth noting. Fish had Bridgit give Harvey some food and water but left him inside for simplicity. He’d put aside all questions in favor of appreciating the gift, the predictable and dear old thing. Oswald had flashed her some poisonous looks from his seat as he rested his leg, but his lover’s arm around his shoulders was keeping him from doing anything rash. Falcone was annoyingly poised, standing with his arms folded behind his back and looking more interested than anything else. They all could wait. 

Zsasz was still making his way towards Jonathan. Fish was about to say something, and Zsasz must have seen her from the corner of his eye because he immediately drew and pointed a gun at her without stopping his advance. “Easy, Mooney. Not going to hurt Jonathan. Just going to give him the nap it looks like he could use anyway. I’ll be with you in a sec.”

“Jonathan, don’t just lie there,” Fish pleaded, hating herself for giving him yet another command. 

Jonathan didn’t so much as twitch. “I’m used to needles, Mr. Zsasz, just go for my neck so I don’t have to get up.”

Bridgit said softly, “What am I going to do with Mama gone?”

It broke through Jonathan’s numbness. He lifted his head enough to glare at her. “That’s. So. Unfair.” Then one of his hands emerged from under the blanket and he made a twisting motion.

Part of Fish wondered how many people had ever seen Zsasz in true terror. It couldn’t have been many. Zsasz’s mouth opened and he sank to the floor, putting his gun and the syringe down and sliding them away like he thought they were going to leap up and bite him. His words were in an agonized hush and his hands were scrabbling in ways that made no sense to an outside observer. “No, no, no no no shit no, there’s gotta be a mistake! It’s an exercise, right, that’s what it has to be, it’s a prank, you can’t, not all of you at once, I can’t make it without you, I’m not _human_ without you, Butch getting _one_ of you was more than enough, get up, get up now, stop -”

“That’s enough, I got it.” Bridgit cast an individual ring of fire around him, and Jonathan let go of Zsasz’s mind with a relieved sigh. “I bet you have more guns, Mr. Zsasz, but I’m giving you a chance to be my prisoner rather than Jonathan's. Clear?”

“Crystal,” Zsasz said, moving to a cross-legged position and acting like he had no memory of the previous moments of his personal hell.

“So much for your claim that you come in peace, Falcone,” Fish said tartly.

Falcone walked to the very edge of the safe zone he was trapped in. “Did you never wonder where Strange got his funding? The massive grant that keeps your water and power running, allows for your supply chain to continue, and covers the salaries of the workers you won’t allow to quit but still have to pay in order to maintain a plausible front?”

Fish raised an eyebrow. “What, from you?”

“No. From a secret council I cannot disclose, at least not here and now, whose goals barely match what Strange ended up doing. They became concerned that Strange had gone rogue, and got in touch with me. We knew Strange was playing with brains as well as bodies, so I asked Zsasz to find a trustworthy volunteer to be pre-programmed in a way that would perhaps keep his free will in Zsasz’s hands rather than Strange’s - or anyone else’s. A volunteer who wouldn’t fit the typical mental image of an associate of Zsasz’s. His people ensured there would be a job opening that would allow plenty of access to the complex but not draw much attention…”

Jonathan sat bolt upright. “Nefyn! Out! Now! 

Amazing how much the door to janitor’s closet could creak when there was enough dramatic tension. The young man Fish had carefully interviewed to see if he was decent company for her boy walked out with his hands up. He wasn’t in the uniform she’d always seen him wearing. Instead he was dressed in all black except for his electric blue elastic hair tie.

“You’re a Zsaszette?” Bridgit asked.

“I prefer the term ‘Zsaszeur’ as a masculine form, hoping it catches on,” Nefyn said with an awkward smile. “Jonathan…”

“Shut up.” Jonathan looked on the verge of tears or homicide or both. 

“Jonathan…”

Jonathan’s sentence got louder as it went on. “I smuggled you in here ahead of time because I thought maybe for once someone would have my back with no strings attached, but I GUESS THAT WOULD BE TOO MUCH TO -”

“He told us nothing about you, not even that you existed,” Zsasz interrupted. “I’m equally annoyed and impressed he managed it. Fries may have been above his clearance, from what I gather, but you two obviously know each other."

Falcone nodded. “It’s a substantial oversight, Knifepoint.”

“Nice handle,” Jonathan said vaguely. His eyes went unfocused the way it did when he was checking the emotions of someone nearby. 

“Hope that catches on, too.” Nefyn pursed his lips. “Don Falcone, Victor, do what you want to punish me, but I’m not sorry at all. I’m happy to be a weapon. Jonathan’s not. He's been used like that by three different people now. If it keeps up, one of these days Jonathan Crane isn’t going to be here anymore. There’s only going to be that scarecrow he’s so obsessed with. That’s not acceptable.”

Presumably the test came out Sincere, because Jonathan inhaled sharply, put one hand over his mouth, and beckoned. Nefyn cautiously sat beside him. Jonathan clung to him, sniffling into his shoulder. Bridgit exchanged nods with Nefyn and then did the 'my eyes on you' gesture before catching Fish's eye. Fish jerked her head towards the folding chairs. With Jonathan down for the count, she needed her firebug beside her. The worst Fries would do to Selina, if it became a confrontation rather than simply tracking, was temporarily freeze her like with Butch. Oswald would happily kill Fish again in a heartbeart.

“Uh, were you planning on filling us in on any of this?” Harvey asked. “Why now? Why did you bother with that treasure story?”

Falcone turned to Harvey. “Knifepoint recently learned that his friendly acquaintance Selina Kyle had known Bridgit Pike. I decided this could help the expedition come out with harmonious results. I’m sorry, Captain Bullock, but I need you to be part of the sort of negotiations you’re not supposed to knowingly enter into.”

“I’m not sure I like the sound of that,” Oswald muttered. Good.

Falcone turned his attention back to Fish. “Knifepoint’s intel has been impressive, the omission of Jonathan aside. Inspiring, even. While I do not make this offer lightly, a pair of rooks are worth less to me than a queen. I convinced Cobblepot and Nygma to come along as...unwitting peace offerings. If it would mean getting to do what you liked to them, would you be willing to set aside our differences and enter into an alliance?


	8. Explanations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> End notes contain spoilers.

There had been a time when Oswald would have tried to wheedle or manipulate himself out of this situation first and foremost, with a plan B of at least going down hissing and spitting vitriol at both Falcone and Fish. But now he had a new priority.

He quickly prostrated himself before Falcone and said, “Please - sir - Edward has nothing to do with this. I didn’t even know him back then. Leave him out of it.”

“Oswald!” Ed scolded in the background, though what else he’d have Oswald do, Oswald had no idea.

“I’m not cheerful about doing this,” Falcone said. “I would love to continue having Mr. Nygma’s expertise at my disposal. However, if you were to die and he lived, he would spend the entirety of our lives plotting revenge, and I’m not sure which of us would win.”

Ed made an incongruously pleased sound at this. Oswald wished yet again that Ed weren’t so perpetually starving for praise no matter the circumstances. 

Then Jonathan cleared his throat, and Oswald shifted so he could see the boy. Who was now holding hands with the spy and molded against him the way Ed tended to draw close to Oswald after a nightmare. “Fish, you know how I feel about people being punished for their loved one’s actions.”

Fish sighed. “I’ve been waiting a long time for this, chickadee, and it’s an attractive proposal. What do you want from me, Falcone?”

Oswald prostrated himself in Fish’s direction instead. “It’s been more than three years, Fish, and I’m sorry, and if you’ll let bygones be bygones I would be more than willing to -”

“And if you live, how will I know the story won’t repeat itself?” Fish asked. Which was perceptive of her, if Oswald was honest. “I can’t rely on my powers to ensure something so long-term and broad.”

Jonathan carefully got to his feet and walked over to Fish. He whispered in her ear for what felt like ages. 

Her eyes widened. “Are you sure about that last part?”

“Yes.”

Fish considered whatever Jonathan had said for exactly five seconds. Oswald counted. Then she said, “Bridgit, escort Edward and Oswald towards the janitor’s closet. Then you can give food and water to Falcone and Zsasz. Jonathan and I will speak privately to two of them for a moment. Nefyn - Knifepoint - which do you want to want me to call you?”

The young man looked startled but smiled. “Knifepoint is purely professional, so Nefyn, please.”

“It’s nothing personal, but I want Bridgit to put you in the same circle as Zsasz. I’ve been lenient so far because contact with you seems to help Jonathan.”

He got up and bowed. “Fair enough, ma’am.”

Oswald and Ed were given water, at least. Ed held Oswald’s hand while gulping down half his bottle. 

The closet was fairly spacious. There was a chair and a paperback book that Knifepoint must have brought in to make his wait more comfortable. Fish sat in the chair like it was a throne. Jonathan shut the door behind him.

“I told her I saw you two about to kill Falcone and Bullock,” Jonathan said without preamble. “We don’t have security cameras in many parts of the diversion tunnels, mostly around the entrances and exits, but I know what I saw and I read your intent. Given what I’ve heard of the Penguin’s reputation, I don’t think it would be hard to convince Falcone you’d take that opportunity. Bullock doesn’t like me, but I picked up a bit of his feelings about both of you. He already suspects Nygma of having killed two of their former coworkers.”

Oswald opened his mouth, but Fish did her fingertip tsk-tsk and he closed it again. She said, “So these are my terms. In exchange for your lives and neither Jonathan nor myself informing Falcone, you, Oswald, will surrender all the assets that used to belong to me. Especially the club. You will also foot the bill towards restoring the club to its original look. You will make a formal and humble apology at the next meeting of the Falcone Family. Neither of you will come into conflict with me or anyone important to me.”

Those were so reasonable that Oswald almost couldn’t believe it. “Agreed.”

“Also, you have to spend an entire month wearing nothing but underwear, sneakers, shorts, and a t-shirt in public.”

“You can’t be serious.”

She raised an eyebrow. “One more word of complaint and I’ll pick a winter month.”

“I’ll help you choose the most tasteful casual clothes,” Ed said, squeezing his hand. “And I’ll...I’ll dress to match.”

That made it bearable. “Agreed, ma’am.”

“As for you, Edward, Jonathan said you read his father’s paper and showed understanding of it and his past. You seemed to draw upon personal memories when calming him through an episode. I’ve regretted not being able to provide him with better mental health support down here.”

Jonathan shoved his hands deep in his pockets and looked down at the floor. “The episode I had in front of you doesn’t happen every day, and isn’t normally that bad, but it’s not uncommon. The things I see vary, and I only sometimes know they’re not real. You knew I was making you hallucinate, Mr. Nygma. You were affected, but became aware. When Strange was making me test my powers on abducted Arkham patients, we found out that the only people who can do that when I don't want them to are people who are generally lucid, but used to hallucinating on a regular basis.”

Oswald settled for shooting a horrified look at Ed rather than grabbing him by the shoulders and shaking him. Ed withdrew his hand and hugged himself instead, his arms tied in a sad knot. “We’re going to talk about this,” Oswald said firmly.

“Whoopee,” Ed replied in monotone.

Fish held up a hand. “Jonathan wants to have - I don’t know, a friend? Mentor? Someone he thinks might understand him. Someone to talk to who manages to function with both trauma and psychosis. I don’t have beef with you personally, other than maybe by making Oswald happy. Take Jonathan under your wing in whatever way the two of you hash it out, and I’ll call us even.”

“I’m not sure I’m a good role model,” Ed warned. Oswald wanted to shake him some more.

“Do you think I’m looking for a good role model?” Jonathan asked dryly. "I'm looking for a resilient one."

“Then agreed,” Ed said.

****

“Did you tell Jonathan you’re already sleeping with other people?” Bridget asked, looking askance.

“Oh yeah, he knows. He said as long as he gets to meet them and they’re cool with him and stuff and - Victor, not that I dislike your attention in general, but is this the time and place?”

The moment Bridgit added Nefyn to Zsasz’s circle, Zsasz had wrapped him in a tight embrace and started, like, affectionately molesting him over his clothes. It was making Bullock obviously uncomfortable. Good. He’d triggered Jonathan earlier and deserved discomfort. Whether Falcone was comfortable with this display or not, she couldn’t tell. Bridgit was fascinated in a purely curious way.

Zsasz kissed Nefyn for the fifth time before replying. “None of the rest of the crew are here, so I can’t celebrate with them that they aren’t actually horribly slaughtered. You are.”

“Is that what Jonathan made you see?” Falcone asked.

“Uh.” Zsasz tore himself away from Nefyn, though he kept one hand fisted in his shirt. He faced Falcone in a relatively respectful manner. “Yes, sir. And with all due respect, I would like to remind you that my contract with you stipulates that all discipline of my henchpeople comes directly from me with no external interference.”

“But you haven’t forgotten that he lied to us by omission about an extremely important strategic factor for years.” A very slight edge came into his voice. Bridgit only noticed it because the same thing happened with Mama when she was being politely angry. She was politely angry herself at hearing Jonathan described as a ‘strategic factor’. Meanwhile, Nefyn protecting Jonathan was pretty much enough to cancel out Bridgit’s anger at him being a spy all this time.

“No, sir.” Zsasz sat down on the floor and pulled Nefyn onto his lap for relentless cuddling. “You’re in big trouble, puppy.”

“I know.”

“We’re going to have to kick you out of the house. Because you’ve been bad, and there’s a house rule against lying to each other about important things.”

Nefyn nodded in acceptance. “Am I allowed to visit?”

“I think the others would kill me if I didn’t let you visit. Especially if I tell them what you’re being punished for. Leonara would go d'aww, Candy would say I was being a terrible metamour...speaking of, you can bring Jonathan.”

“Good." Nefyn sat quietly for a bit, back to being someone’s security blanket. Zsasz was wrapping it up in humor, but Bridgit could tell he really was shaken. 

Bullock cleared his throat. “Didn’t know you were into dudes, Zsasz.”

Zsasz shook his head. “I’m into _deadly._ I’m not with everyone who works for me, though. Just some, all different dynamics. This one's the only one who puts up with manhandling - "

“Are you going to tell us about the man who was shooting ice out of his hands?” Bullock asked, desperately changing the subject

“Oh! Right! Mr. Freeze. Ring a bell?” Zsasz pointed at the statue that was Butch. “It all started when I was running after my frozen pal over there…”

****

After a long and winding chase, Selina tracked Fries to a hidden elevator that he rode down but would not come up, no matter how much she tried. So she slid down the cable like it was a fireman’s pole and unlatched the safety hatch on the roof of the elevator, dropping herself down inside. It was an old-fashioned elevator with an accordion-y grate rather than steel doors. She got it open just enough to eel through.

There were several doors. One was open. Selina edged towards it and peeked in.

It was a cross between a morgue and a freezer, with various dials and gauges on the walls. The drawers were labeled only with numbers. Fries was methodically pulling open each drawer.

“You might as well come in, Selina,” he said without turning around. “It will be easier for me to explain if I don’t have to raise my voice. I won’t hurt you. Maybe if you understand..."

“How’d you know?” she asked, coming closer. Playing along. She'd allowed Jonathan to give her a harmless hallucination about a floating kitten earlier, so that there'd be enough leftover psychic energy and stuff for him to find her later today. 

“I had a fair guess. You would make the most sense. Also, these surfaces are highly reflective.”

Ugh, she thought she was past rookie mistakes like that. “Are those dead people?”

“To a degree. Unfortunately, I don’t have a reference guide for who is in which drawer. Strange never let me in here unsupervised.” 

It was cold enough to see her breath, but Selina was shivering more from the creepiness. 

“This was for people Strange either considered beyond reviving but were still of interest, or would require a modified version of his existing process that he hadn’t been able to develop yet.”

Selina put her bare fingers on one of the drawer handles. “Huh, there’s only a few…”

“Don’t touch anything. Me cracking each one open is bad enough, two in short succession could cause the potentially revivable ones great harm.” Fries blue eyes and veins in his face and neck were even more startling under the harsh fluorescent lights.

Selina’s hand flew off the handle. “Sorry. You never told Fish? The map she gave me for reference didn’t have this floor."

“No.”

“Why?

He looked into three more drawers before making a noise somewhere between a gasp and a sob. Selina hurried over to look.

This body had weird cracks in it, like a broken china doll that had been glued back together, and all of her skin and hair was blue-gray. It was covered with a sheet below the collarbone and floating in a dark blue gel of some kind. The label said: _Gradually coalescing after improper initial freezing. Useful leverage._

“She looks so much more solid than she did four years ago,” Fries said. Like a prayer. “I couldn’t tell Mooney about her. It was bad enough having Strange - it was better letting everyone think I was really on his side. Everyone is ready to believe the worst of me, so it was easy. He’d let me see her sometimes. I thought she was permanently lost, you see, but it turns out all of her was still there, just in pieces. Strange found a way that would make her cells knit back together, and it’s slow, Selina, it’s very very very slow, but it’s clearly been working. One day Nora will be whole again. When she is…”

“When she is, your defrosting can bring her back,” Selina finished. “What if she has amnesia or doesn’t want you back?”

“Then she is free to go. The illness she was dying from will _not_ have survived. I’ll...help her find a new life, if that’s what she prefers. But she deserves another chance. She deserves to have choices.” He reluctantly closed the drawer. “I won’t endanger her recovery by gawking unnecessarily. When my plan to strip Mooney of her powers started going wrong, I couldn’t bear the idea of her killing me or locking me away again without seeing Nora. Not after three years."

“I really get that,” Selina said. She hugged herself, wishing she was wearing full gloves rather than fingerless ones. “Can we continue this conversation somewhere else?”

“Sure.” 

Selina took two steps, then stopped in her tracks. “Is it supposed to do that?”

“What?”

Selina pointed at the drawer she’d touched a moment ago. Spiky green stems were squeezing through the cracks. Pushing out.

“Take off your half-gloves and open the drawer,” Fries said. “Wrap your hands fully around the handle.”

“What? You just said - and why me?”

He motioned for her to hurry. “Because you have warm hands. Seems like someone has been waiting a long time for spring.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise Nora fix-it! Yay!
> 
> Just in case: "Metamour" can be used used in polyamory to mean a paramour of your paramour, who is not, however, yours too. In my Sheaths and Safeties series, Candy the Zsaszette is paramours with Nefyn and another Zsaszette who sleeps with Zsasz, but not Zsasz himself.


	9. Bargains

Fish sent Jonathan, Nefyn, and Zsasz to check on Selina and Fries. She needed Jonathan to sense Selina, Zsasz to convince Fries this was diplomacy and not an arrest, and Nefyn to protect Jonathan from both Zsasz and his own demons.

Bridgit grumbled about not getting to reunite with Selina right away, but she also enjoyed the responsibility of quietly playing secretary and bodyguard at the same time. After establishing that Fish was not planning on torturing Oswald and Edward to death or what have you, Fish ordered Falcone and Bullock released from the fiery ring. They set up a table and six chairs for a civilized discussion.

_Falcone’s demands:_

\- Fish convince the residents of Indian Hill to join her in an alliance with his network.

\- The plans, access codes, and all other relevant information towards the use of the Indian Hill facility.

\- It was acceptable for Oswald to cede Fish’s former territory as part of his own deal with her, but she would never, ever, ever, ever try to expand her holdings ever again behind Falcone’s back.

\- Fish could keep her powers, provided they were never used in an unsanctioned manner.

_Fish’s conditions:_

\- No penalty would come to Indian Hill residents who turned down Falcone’s offer. Those who accepted would have optional opportunities to settle aboveground, and would all earn reasonable salaries.

\- Protection from the resentment of Victor Fries.

\- Butch released from his programming after being thawed.

\- The GCPD’s assistance in forging documents/falsifying records as necessary for the reintegration of Indian Hill residence into society.

_Harvey’s requirements for that last one:_

\- The staff released from Fish’s control so they could stop working here if they wanted to.

\- Jonathan Crane surrendered into police custody, with some sort of containment measures to keep him from driving everyone nuts.

_Fish’s response to that last one:_

\- Hell no. You can have Jervis Tetch, who has partial but not full memory of before Indian Hill. If Tetch weren’t useful I would have made him kill himself with a teaspoon long ago.

_Harvey’s reply:_

\- You have Tetch? Then both.

_Bridgit’s response:_

\- I will slowly roast you alive. Jonathan’s tired of hurting people, can’t you see? He just want to finish high school and go to college and spend lots of time outside. Like Nefyn said, people have been messing with him for a long time. Jail or Arkham for him would make things worse for everybody.

_Edward’s response:_

\- I need Jonathan to be free in order to hold up my end of a bargain.

_Falcone’s response:_

\- I must admit that I am uneasy about your ability to wield that exceedingly frightening young man as your attack dog. I see more potential benefits than risks when it comes to your own skillset, but when combined with his…

_Oswald’s addition:_

\- Gotham would fall in days at most.

_Edward's hiss:_

\- Oswald, what are you doing?

_Fish’s suggestion, after long thought:_

\- What if I offered you something else, to help you sleep better at night?

****

“I thought my nightmares made this floor up,” Jonathan said as they exited the hidden elevator.

“This isn’t a nightmare, promise,” Nefyn said, rubbing a thumb over the knuckles of Jonathan’s left hand.

“I know. Nobody holds my hand in nightmares. I’m okay for now.” Jonathan pointed at the room where he felt Selina’s mind the strongest. “If they’re accurate, that was the ‘take the scarecrow away and hurt Jonathan by other means for a few hours’ room. I think the psychic energy got too disruptive for a more heavily populated floor.”

“Is Selina okay in there?” Zsasz asked. “I figure you probably wouldn’t be so calm if she wasn’t, but I don’t know how your head works.”

“She’s fine.”

Surprisingly, Selina and Fries were working together examining a young woman about Nefyn’s age in a hospital gown, lying unrestrained (what a novelty) on an examination table. Selina’s job seemed to be handing Fries things while being nonthreatening. Given where they were, it was actually less surprising that the woman’s visible skin was covered in green prickles. Her long black hair seemed unaffected. She was holding up her hands and staring, fascinated, at the sharp leaves and fuzzy purple flowers sprouting from her palms.

She pointed at the doorway and said in a rusty but amiable voice, “People. Here.”

“They’re going to be nice to you,” Selina said. “I woke a cryo person by accident, guys.”

Fries was listening to her pulse with a stethoscope, gloved hands, and something resembling tenderness. “The longer they’re under, the less verbal they are at first. It takes the neurons time to get up to full activity. After years I expect childlike behavior for a few months. I’m impressed you’re talking so much immediately after sleeping so long, my friend.”

As if in a dream - thankfully not a nightmare - Jonathan walked over to a cabinet and tried to open it. “Dad taught himself and then me to pick locks to, uh, help him, but I’m out of practice,” he said. He’d never directly participated in murder, Dad having some semblance of moral standards, but he’d been pressed into service for a lot of logistical matters.

“I’m on it,” Selina said, not batting an eye at Jonathan’s admission. “Can I use this?”

Fries glanced at the thin metal tweezers of some sort she’d grabbed from a tray. “Clean it thoroughly after.”

“Why aren’t you running or gearing up to fight?” Zsasz asked. He was approaching a steel chair decked out with straps that Jonathan didn’t care to contemplate much. It looked like it was pure curiosity, though.

“Sit up, please, so I can check how well you are breathing,” Fries told his patient. He didn’t take his eyes off her. “Zsasz, nobody but me can ensure this former test subject recovers properly. I don’t know what was done to her first, but I’m the one who froze her. My late wife has been secretly reforming, and after three years of pondering, I think maybe I should too. Reform, I mean. I can’t expect Nora to want to be with me when she’s back if I’m nothing close to what she deserves.”

The sincerity washed over Jonathan without him even trying, so powerfully that he almost fell over while getting out of Selina’s way. She gave him an odd look as she started on the lock.

“Sun,” the plantlike person said, reaching a prickly hand up towards the lamp shining on her. The leaves and flowers sprouting from her palms were starting to wither.

“That’s not the sun, thistle girl,” Zsasz said. He flopped into that horrible chair like it was the comfiest seat ever. “Speaking of thawing, Nefyn, go tell them to come down here and bring Butch. I’ll explain the situation, Fries. Thankfully you don’t need to run or fight after all, you lucky arctic duck.”

While Zsasz talked, Selina got the lock open and took out the large leather bound journal inside. There were tabs on the sides of the pages like a phonebook or some editions of the Bible. She took a look inside. “ _Experiment Log #2, Dr. Hugo Strange._ ”

Jonathan took it from her. “Sometimes he dictated his notes. Sometimes he jotted stuff down.”

“You gonna be okay?” Selina asked.

“I think I’ve run out of the ability to be upset for the time being,” he said evenly. There turned out to be a handwritten table of contents. Jonathan decided to skip the ‘Crane, J. - Transmissible Psychosis’ section in case his upsetness hypothesis was wrong. He ignored everyone else in the room for a few minutes as he searched for something relevant.

“Oh, Jonathan, I have a stockpile of extra medication ready for you,” Fries said. “Ms Mooney’s orders.”

“Thank you.” That was thoughtful of her. A while later, Jonathan found it. “I think this is an explanation of what happened to…”

“Thistle Girl,” Zsasz insisted.

“Thistle,” said the person in question. “This.”

“Jane Doe recently dead of amatoxin poisoning...to paraphrase, she probably ate destroying angel mushrooms, which are related to death caps, by accident, and Strange tried giving her this postmortem poison antidote he was working on, and a standard part of treatment for people in advanced liver failure from amatoxin consumption is...scientific name, Latin, Latin… ohhh. An extract from the milk thistle.”

“I’m Thistle!” she announced, sounding pleased to have reached an agreement.

“Exactly,” Jonathan said. “It goes onto say that it didn’t seem to work but an autopsy might be worthwhile when he had a moment to spare, so he’d have Fries put her in stasis for the time being.”

“Must have been, like, a vat of thistle extract,” Selina commented wryly.

Then the rest of the group arrived. Nefyn was pushing Butch, stiffly propped up on a dolly cart. Nygma looked completely fascinated by the sight of Thistle, even as he helped his partner into a free chair. Jonathan had sympathy for Cobblepot’s hatred of Fish, given how she’d permanently disabled him, even if it he sort of brought it on himself.

“Knifepoint briefed us en route,” Falcone said. “Is it true, then, that you were the one actually capable of preserving and reviving people, and Strange was taking the credit?”

Fries put down the mallet he’d just used to test the reflexes on one of Thistle’s knees. “I had no awareness of him reporting to anyone, but if they never heard of me, then yes.”

Falcone nodded thoughtfully. “How would you feel about continuing that work in a more streamlined fashion, with new funding? I would introduce you to the people Strange reported to. Healing your wife would be completely acceptable on your own time.”

Clearly thrown by this turn of events, Fries gaped at Falcone for a few seconds. “What sort of participants?”

“The terminally ill and their medical proxies. People in the same situation as you and your wife were. It’s better to keep this secret, so you can be selective without having hordes of people banging on your door.” Falcon jerked a thumb at Bullock. “No trouble from that quarter.”

“It’s...kinda house arrest, right?” Bullock said reluctantly.

With a smile, Falcone approached Fries and added, “We can work out the precise details later -”

“ _Want_ sun,” Thistle said desperately, hopping off the table and running at Bridgit.

Bridgit fended off Thistle’s attempts to wrap her arms around her in what would have been a painful hug. “Hey, stop, hang on. I’m warm, but I’m not the sun.”

“I think she might literally need sunlight to live,” Selina said. “I’ve got a friend who’s unusually good with plants and mushrooms, by the way. Like, really good. Without any training or anything.”

“Maybe we could call your friend in to consult, then,” Fries said as an aside. He turned back to Falcone. “Would I have to work with Mooney?”

Fish made a so-so gesture. “My responsibility is to the people I’ve been leading, wherever they are. You can do what you want with the labs.”

“Sun,” Thistle said sadly, looking around at everyone.

“Bridgit, Selina, go get her some real clothes and take her to just outside the main staff entryway." Fish said. “Find a sunny patch and look after her for us. Someone will fetch you for dinner.”

“Why them and not me?” Jonathan blurted out.

Fish smiled gently. “Because I think you might have other things you want to be doing shortly. I’ve made a deal. Some of the others don’t want you ‘at large’ with your powers when I could compel you to do my dirty work for me. The only fair thing, then, is for me to not be able to compel you anymore.”

_“What?”_

“I’ve been selfish for long enough when it comes to you. Hell, I’ve been so possessive that I didn’t even let you take a peek aboveground in case it would fill you with even more longing, and out of the fear that someone might notice you. Before I let Fries take this from me, though, there’s something I need to do. Zsasz is going to say the code words to undo both Butch and Nefyn’s programming, so I should follow suit. The staff’s compulsions will wear off in a few days without being renewed. You shouldn’t have to wait that long.”

“Really? You’re really doing this for me?” Jonathan felt even fainter than he had for the past few hours.

“It’s not that much of a sacrifice. I can be queen of wherever the hell I want without any supernatural shortcuts.” Fish came closer and put her hands on his shoulders. “Look into my eyes, chickadee. Good. Jonathan Crane, you are no longer under any control or obligation of any kind. Your criminal record will be erased. You are nobody’s weapon. Be free.”

On impulse, Jonathan kissed her cheek. Then bolted. He needed to test whether she’d really lifted her curse. He’d come back for his possessions. He’d come back to hug Bridgit and have Nefyn lead him someplace new.

Now, he ran to the nearest way out. Not the convoluted tunnels he’d led the intruders down, something far straighter and surer. He had studied every route. He knew every door code. Nothing impeded his progress.

Oh.

Light. And day. And trees. And sky.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thistle is a tweaked version of an OC I also use elsewhere, like Nefyn, though she's far less major than he is in the stories she shows up in. She's not going to be major in this story, either. That'd be hard anyway, since the next chapter's the epilogue.


	10. Epilogue

Butch woke lying on some kind of doctors’ examining table, Fries on one side of him and Fish on the other. “Am I dreaming?”

“No,” Fish said, taking his hand. Not in a romantic way, he remembered Fish saying that she had never had romantic feelings for anyone and wasn’t planning on starting, but with that trust and respect of the old days between them. “Fries says you should stay still for the next five minutes, but three years has been long enough. I’ve got someone named Kelly to help me continue to manage the people of Indian Hill, but I need to take back what was mine and make it better, too. I need help for that. Gentlemen?”

Zsasz stepped into Butch’s field of vision. A few seconds later, Penguin limped into it as well. Penguin didn’t look super happy but didn’t look murderous, which in context made Butch feel hopeful. Zsasz cracked his knuckles and gave an unsettling smile. Which, for Butch, was all Zsasz’s smiles. “Every time I program someone, I put a few words or phrases to undo it, and it stays a secret between me and my assistant. The Zsaszettes want me to tell you that you’re a sack of walrus shit.”

“Was that entirely necessary?” Falcone asked from somewhere in the room.

“Yes, because that was the phrase. I let my assistant pick it after he shot her best friend. Anyway. Stick your finger up your nose, Butch.”

Butch didn’t want to. And didn’t. He gasped. 

Penguin said, sounding tired, “Sing a nursery rhyme, Butch.”

Butch didn’t. Instead, he sat up - ignoring Fries’ immediate warnings - and hugged Fish. “Want me back? Say the word.”

“The word,” Fish said, squeezing back before nudging him down onto the table again.

“Thank you for your help in getting my suit back, by the way, even if you had no choice the matter,” Fries said. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to take a few readings on your condition for my records. I want to be able to help Nora as much as I can when it’s her turn.”

“Are you planning on telling everyone about your wife constantly now that you’re not keeping her a secret anymore?” Harvey Bullock asked from another part of the room.

Fries just smiled and gave Butch’s chest a gentle pat with one of his gloved hands. 

****

The moment Fish was okay with Butch’s condition, Zsasz told Nefyn to lead Zsasz and Falcone to a real exit. They had things to do. Nefyn had already said goodbye to the girls, who’d departed immediately after Jonathan’s _nyoom_ out of the place.

“I’d like a unicorn sandwich on wafer cookies, stat,” Zsasz said, putting an arm around his shoulders.

Nefyn blinked. “Is that really my decode phrase?”

Zsasz grinned. “Yep. Tell me what the ladies did to you last Tuesday night.”

“Nope!” Nefyn grinned. Then stopped grinning when Falcone cleared his throat. 

“Knifepoint, I didn’t want to cause a scene with your employer in front of everyone…”

It had been Falcone’s idea for Zsasz to not only send in one of his own, but to pre-emptively break them so Strange couldn’t. Programming Butch had taken weeks. Programming Nefyn had taken days, because he was willing. However, the amount of pain and distress it took per hour had been the same. Nefyn didn’t remember the experience. Zsasz did. 

The command had always been: _Tell me what I need to know._ No more, no less. Trust for trust. 

“You want me to punish him harder?” Zsasz asked mildly, when Falcone trailed off and didn’t trail on again. “Fair enough. You’re fired.”

“Yes, sir,” Nefyn said neutrally. He slipped away to open up the secret elevator. Falcone didn’t need to know that Nefyn had been making noises about Knifepoint becoming a solo act, though still allied with Zsasz, as soon as this undercover assignment was over. For more than two years now.

“And you have one week to tidy your affairs before you get out of Gotham and stay out for a period of temporary exile. Three months. One for each year of deceit. At which point you still can’t live with us anymore, but you can, you know, drop by.” Zsasz looked at Falcone, because if he looked at Nefyn he might wink. “Don’t be hanging around giving Don Falcone a headache until he’s in a better mood. I don’t care where you go. Or what company you keep.”

Falcone’s expression as he entered the elevator suggested he wasn’t completely fooled, but he didn’t push any further. Good. Zsasz did not want to see a day someone tried to make him choose between his employer and his people. Finding new employers was so tedious. 

****

Fortunately, while she was taller and more willowy than Bridgit, Thistle was able to fit in some of her clothes. Less fortunately, she wanted to sunbathe topless and needed gentle persuasion to keep a t-shirt on, though rolled up to bare her stomach as a compromise.

Selina didn’t want to use up all her current attention on a phone call to Ivy, but she knew Ivy might be slightly concerned. Telling her she was alive got a smiley. Telling her she’d found her childhood friend she thought was dead and now they were dating got some hearts and smileys. Telling her she found a part-plant person who might need help thriving got exclamation points, question marks, and loads of excited swear words.

She pocketed her phone and looked at Bridgit, perched on a rock and hugging her knees. After the stop by Bridgit’s wardrobe, Bridgit had led them to one of the small, hidden emergency exits where Thistle could get sunlight without anyone stumbling onto her. 

Selina joined her perch. “Whatcha thinkin’ about?”

Bridgit pointed at Thistle lying in the grass. “Does she have someone like you, who could make her remember? Does everyone still like how I was have someone out there? Or some of them?”

“Maybe you could help them try to find those people,” Selina suggested, scooting closer and putting her head on her shoulder.

“That could be a thing, maybe,” Brigit murmured, reaching for Selina’s hand.

Then Jonathan and Nefyn came into view. Jonathan was pushing his bicycle and had a fat backpack on his shoulders. Nefyn was dragging a suitcase.

“I’m here to say goodbye for now,” Jonathan said, handing the bicycle to Nefyn for a moment. 

Bridgit hopped down and went to hug him tight. “Do you know how long?”

“I’ve got everything I need for four months, including meds. Nefyn doubled back after escorting Zsasz and Falcone to a major exit, got my extra meds from Fries and picked up this stuff.” Jonathan looked at Nefyn with a kind of shy sappy gratitude that made Selina want to give Nefyn a high five. She knew Nefyn hadn’t exactly been lonely since Zsasz fished him out of the gutter, but from what he’d mentioned over their occasional rooftop and alleyway chats it sounded he’d been like a fussed-over runt of a litter rather than having someone of his very own. 

“I’ve got a bit saved up, and Fish agreed Jonathan’s owed some cash for everything he’s done,” Nefyn continued. “I’d hold up the envelope but I don’t want to tempt the cat woman.”

“Hardy har.” Selina smirked. “Still better at pickpocketing that you’ll ever be, blade boy.”

“That’s what I’m saying.”

Bridgit was _still_ hugging Jonathan, who wasn’t being as enthusiastic but wasn’t pushing her away. “Want me to get your stuff put in storage somewhere you can get at it easy?”

“That’d be good, thanks,” he said quietly. 

“I felt guilty when you said you didn’t feel like anyone had your back.”

“I was freaking out at the time.”

“You weren’t being totally unfair, though. I understand what it’s like, now, to remember the outside.”

“I’m glad you only had to remember one day before you could go.”

“Nefyn and I traded numbers ages ago,” Selina said. They weren’t best buddies or anything, but Nefyn hadn’t forgotten his time on the streets and the value of what you can learn from there, and Selina knew the value of having a friendly hitman on speed dial. 

“I’m really glad you two got together, by the way.” Nefyn made a hand-heart, the dork. If it hadn’t been for his screwed-up life - Selina didn’t know the particulars, but she could read between the lines - Nefyn would probably have made a really good nice, normal person. Instead, he was a really nice person who was good at killing people. 

“Me too. Take care of each other. I’ll get my own phone soon. I need to get out of Gotham for a bit. Nefyn literally has to get out of Gotham for a bit.” Jonathan stepped back and took back his bicycle. “It was...it’s _been_ good, having a sister.”

“Come back safe,” Bridgit said. 

“See you later, Thistle,” Nefyn made sure to say before leading Jonathan to his car, probably.

“Sun,” Thistle said, content.

Bridgit approached Selina, her eyes a little tearful, and kissed her. Her standing, Selina sitting. Selina wrapped her legs around her waist to hold her close.

“Fire,” Selina said, content.

****

As soon as Ed and Oswald got home, they made their excuses to Olga - Ed deflected her questions by asking about her recent date with Gabe - and ate the food she pressed on them in tense silence. Oswald didn’t want to let Ed out of his sight just yet and followed him into the shower. Now that he was looking for it, he noticed Ed’s flinch when passing the bathroom mirror. How hard he avoided looking at it.

Ed tried to start up something once he got the hot water going and both of them under the spray. Oswald shook his head and sat on the waterproof stool he used when his leg was bothering him, which it was. A lot. “I wasn’t about to have this conversation in the car, partition or no partition. This is our first completely private moment together since I’ve found out. And I am. Not. Waiting.”

“Oh.” Ed slumped slightly but reached for the soap anyway. His words came out in a hurried rush as he lathered himself up, as if to just get it over with. “The main one looks just like me, except he doesn’t need glasses and he’s sort of...perpetually vicious, in a way I’m only vicious _sometimes_. He doesn’t seem pleased that the Ed I used to be isn’t completely gone. He says you keep me - him - I don’t know, here. I agreed to accept him fully after...well, it seems I haven’t completely. As I said. I never saw him until I killed Dougherty, though I think I may have dreamed of him, and I definitely had him in my head and occasionally in my ear. Mirrors are easiest for him but sometimes he’s there. Would you like me to wash your hair for you?”

They’d learned recently that they both liked that. An act of devotion, and making use of Oswald having an unusually sensitive scalp. Oswald gave a tiny nod, but that didn’t mean he was off the hook. “How did Jonathan know?”

“I don’t know all the intricacies, but Mirror Ed was the one who told me that the cave-in was a hallucination. He was the one who ran through the illusory barrier when I chickened out. That’s what he’s for. When I chicken out.”

Oswald remembered how Ed had tucked his glasses away. How his expression, his stance had changed. “I noticed something was different. I didn’t like it.”

Ed sighed. “I’m not overly fond of him either.”

“You said _main_.”

“Once in a long while, usually when I’m feeling guilty, I see Miss Kri - Kristen. I see Kristen. She tells me off. In my head, too. More often. Can we please talk about something else now?”

Oswald beckoned him closer, and reached up. Instead of pulling Oswald to his feet, Ed carefully got down on his knees, clutching at the bar of soap like it would protect him from his own mind. Oswald cradled Ed’s face in his hands. “Stop lying to me about this from now on. You need to promise me that.”

“You’re not going to…”

“Not going to what?”

Ed gulped. “Leave? Or, well, make me leave, since this is your house?”

“We definitely need to talk about this more when we’re not so dead on our feet, and how to manage these hallucinations, and what measures might be warranted. But anyone leaving anybody? I’m not sure what kind of self-destructive madman you think I am.”

“The best kind?” Ed asked tentatively, about as physically and emotionally vulnerable as anyone could possibly be.

Oswald smiled crookedly through the bittersweetness in his heart. “No, that’s you.”

****

Jim seemed to have this annoying sixth sense these days for whenever Harvey was doing something practical but morally questionable. Since when did Jim hang out in the records room after he went off the clock, anyway?

But nooooo, Jim was suddenly there, and he glanced at the labeled folders on the desk with all his square-jawed righteousness. Then stared at Harvey with flat disbelief. “Why are you burning the files on the deceased Gerald and Jonathan Crane?”

Harvey sighed deeply but did not let go of the lighter. “You would not believe me if I told you.”

Then Lee appeared behind Jim, putting an arm around his waist. Both of them were unfairly attractive. “How about you tell us over dinner?”

Jim’s mouth opened slightly. “Lee?”

She raised an eyebrow. “I’m not _blind._ Harvey, don’t burn your fingers.”

Harvey burned his fingers. The rest of the night was pretty good, though.

****

Jonathan inspected the map he’d purchased for the trip and the brochure of small-town attractions they’d picked up from last-night’s motel. He’d cross-indexed them. “If we take this exit, we can stop by some kind of local carnival. I’m wishy-washy on it. I’m just saying.”

“I’d rather make it to New Mexico by sundown, if that’s okay.” Nefyn rolled down the windows just a little lower. Jonathan really liked fresh air. 

“That’s okay.” Jonathan adjusted his sunglasses. The world was so _bright_. Especially out here.

“If nothing else works out in your life, you could make a fortune running a haunted house.”

Jonathan laughed and turned up the music just a little louder.

_Take up your arms, sons and daughters_

_We will arise from the bunkers_

_By land, by sea, by dirigible_

_We’ll leave our tracks untraceable now_

****

“Is this your childhood home?” Ed asked. They were sitting in the living room of a farmhouse on the outskirts of Gotham, after all. Though it was less dusty than he would have expected. 

Jonathan shook his head. He was considerably less pale and gaunt than when Ed saw him that fateful day four months ago. “That was sold in my absence. Nefyn helped me reclaim the money. My grandmother died.”

“When did she die?”

“Two weeks ago, shortly after Nefyn and I came to visit her and she said some things about me he didn’t like. Then she slapped me when I said something she didn’t like.” Jonathan shrugged. “He’s got a thing about older relatives who hit younger ones.”

“Ah.” Ed understood that, and he understood that Jonathan understood.

“We have an apartment in the city, but when I get overwhelmed, it’s better for me to be in a more isolated area. Tea?”

Ed was glad Jonathan was that self-aware. “No, thank you.”

“Okay.” Jonathan took a sip of his and then put it down on the coffee table. “I want to introduce our demons to each other more formally.”

“Why?”

“Science? Enlightenment? Shits and giggles?”

Ed chuckled despite himself. “If you promise not to make me worse. I don’t know how to summon mine, though.”

“I can do that for you.” Jonathan’s brow furrowed, and then Mirror Ed was there.

Mirror Ed gestured emphatically towards Jonathan. _Take him hostage, quick!_

Jonathan arched an eyebrow. “I can hear and see you, dude.”

Mirror Ed did a double-take and his eyes widened. _Um..._

“Let me show you mine. I gave you a peek before, but that was the beginner’s version.”

The scarecrow with flaming eyes was now about seven feet tall and made of smoke and madness and Hell itself. _YOU ARE BORN OF FEAR, LITTLE ALTER, BUT I AM FEAR ITSELF._

 _How does that even work?_ Mirror Ed asked, shivering a little but standing his ground.

“This is going to be an interesting afternoon,” Ed said faintly. Jonathan looked grimly determined. 

****

“Oh my god, Jonathan, you got a tan!” Bridgit hugged Jonathan for the first time in five months before he even crossed the threshold.

“I brought rolls,” Jonathan said, rescuing the box from the press of their bodies. “Nygma taught me how to make bread. He knows a lot about yeast.”

“I knew you had him spared for a reason.” She knew he’d come back to town ages ago and that he’d started taking a few classes at community college, but she’d given him his space. She’d been busy helping Mama anyway, both here and back in Indian Hill. Selina came and went as she pleased. Sometimes Bridgit didn’t see her for days and got texts saying “am alive”, and sometimes she woke up to find Selina asleep in her bed. It was her way.

He opened the box. The rolls said HAPPY BDAY FIREFLY in peanut butter and jelly. “Nefyn helped with the spreading. He’s good with…”

“Knives.”

“I was going to say _gestures._ ”

“You’re here, aren’t you? That’s a good gesture. Mama’s waiting in the dining room with Selina, Ivy, Kelly, and Thistle.” Thistle’s need for both sun and secrecy meant she was spending a lot of time at the Mooney-Pike home. She still didn’t remember much and it only bothered her a tiny bit. “Last chance to back out.”

Shaking his head, Jonathan took a deep breath, handed her the rolls, and followed her to the party.

“Hey, looking good!” Kelly said, waving. Jonathan waved back. Ivy waved too, despite this being their first meeting. Thistle was waving her placemat around.

“You’ve got a tan,” Mama said softly, eyes even softer.

“You’ve got an everything,” Jonathan said, taking a seat at the table and getting his pillbox out of his pocket for dinner meds.

**** 

Fish stared down the woman in the silly owl mask. “And I’m telling you that every single sample of Alice Tetch’s blood was destroyed. On my orders. Whatever you wanted with that virus, you’re not getting it.”

If the woman could leap through the video screen at her, she’d probably have her hands around Fish’s throat right now. “You had no right, and you have no power here.”

No wonder Fries had asked her to interface with their ‘sponsors’ instead of him. He wasn’t much for politics or negotiation. Fries was apparently infinitely capable of letting bygones be bygones as long as he had access to his wife and hope of her recovery, and Fish was a practical woman. It was pleasant being on the same side. It was pleasant spending a day down in Indian Hill but being able to go up again, home to her daughters and odd prickly stepchild, in the same city as a son who wouldn’t come when called but would sometimes show up when asked.

She gave her best sneer. “Oh, I’m sorry, did Fries give you the impression that taking away my mind control powers would take away my ability to run any show I damn well please? I’m Fish Mooney, bitch.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [The song was "Sons and Daughters" by the Decemberists. It is the second to last song on their album "The Crane Wife". Thank you for joining me on another little adventure.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=E5H8DwJI0uA)
> 
> Any interest in something original from me? Maybe an urban fantasy that's way queerer than the summary explicitly says? [ Available as ebook and print form on Amazon](https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07DSLT3D2/ref=mp_s_a_1_2?ie=UTF8&qid=1529183871&sr=8-2&pi=AC_SX236_SY340_FMwebp_QL65&keywords=Donaya+Haymond&dpPl=1&dpID=51cFXjiasBL&ref=plSrch), and in [print from the Barnes & Noble site.](https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/seasons-turning-donaya-haymond/1129067787?ean=9780999202654)


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